


Red and Blue Slushees

by spectreink91



Series: Oops, My Mask Don't Hide My Feelings [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Boning, Cuddling, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dissociative Episode, Dry Humping, Emo Spidey, Emotional Texting, Eventual Smut, Feelings, Finding closure in grief, Funeral angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt feelings, I took great liberties with my timeline, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Masturbation, Mental disturbance, Mild Dom/sub play, Mistaken Identity, Oral Sex, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is of Age, Peter can be such a grumpy bitch, Peter’s tender side, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Starting New, Switching, Thoughts of Suicide, Ugh these two idiots, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade mourning Vanessa, Wade needs to talk instead of shutting down, Wade’s sweet side, Yellow and White are Assholes, angry wade, eventual identity reveal, identity crisis, identity depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectreink91/pseuds/spectreink91
Summary: Wade Wilson (Deadpool) is still mourning for his girlfriend Vanessa and is struggling with his budding feelings for his city-guarding partner, Spider-Man. Unsure of how the webbed hero feels, Wade is conflicted on how to handle his increasing romantic feelings for his favorite hero and fast-becoming best friend. Finding themselves constantly running into each other (more than should be coincidental), Wade is having to face his grief over his lost love, how he hates himself, and how this young kid makes him feel.(And, of course, he and Spidey are total dumbasses and both make dumb mistakes and would just function SO much better if they actually communicated--spoiler alert.)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Oops, My Mask Don't Hide My Feelings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658413
Comments: 25
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I took GREAT liberties with this timeline, namely so that I could eek out as much angst and drama and porn fluff as possible. In this fanfic, and the stories in this series I'm planning, the timeline is a combination of the Spideypool timeline and the Deadpool movie timeline. Namely, that Vanessa and Wade are separated by her death, and Spider-Man is in his late twenties, early thirties, with Deadpool in his mid to late thirties. White's quotations are in [ ] and Yellow's are in { }.
> 
> I'm SO stoked for my first fanfic on A03! I have many other fanfics I'll be dipping into, but Spideypool is one of my favorites (I even have a Spideypool tattoo where they're holding hands on a rooftop while eating tacos). 
> 
> Hazah!

Deadpool’s toes itched and stretched over the edge of his apartment roof. It had been a while since he’d stepped off this building, usually preferring a higher one, to make himself like a tostada on the street or the pavement or splayed over the mailbox. He’d call himself a pancake, but he didn’t want to turn himself off his favorite breakfast food tonight. Not that he didn’t love tostadas, but he loved pancakes more. 

“Oh c’mon Bea, don’t be like that,” he muttered as he reached behind him to unfasten his blades, the right katana getting caught in the leather strap that held her and her sister blade Arthur in place. 

Adjusting sharply, he unclipped them and set them lovingly behind the roof’s air vent. The last time he took a header off the side of a building, he scuffed Arthur’s sheath and nearly bent Bea in half. 

He told himself he should’ve taken off his Deadpool suit, but it made him feel less like a loser and more like a high-flying, great purposed anti-hero who needed to reset his brain. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

He really needed to get laid. Not that that reminder helped his mental state at the moment. 

He dangled his left foot over the edge, then switched to his right, a ridiculous hitch in his breath when he nearly slipped and fell. Before he was ready, that is. 

He tried to train himself out of that fear, but no matter how many times he’d offed himself, he still clammed up and felt that shiver of cold sweat on the back of his neck. 

Being killed wasn’t the same. There was an inevitability in having his brains blown out by a criminal or a ‘roided up HYDRA agent or a pissed off Tony Stark after he walked in on him stepping out of the shower. 

Accident or not, he still didn’t regret that one. Yum. 

He shook his head. 

Yellow and White were laughing at him now, Yellow singing the overture to Phantom of the Opera with every note off key and White hissing at Wade to not wet himself before he reached the bottom this time. 

If he needed another reason to off himself, this incessant chorus gave it to him. 

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, lifting right his leg up like in The Last Crusade, internally telling Yellow and White to fuck off when White started tooting the theme song and Yellow told him the dog was named Indiana. 

He’d shifted his weight forward when that familiar liquid snap stuck its slinging echo on the roof door behind him and he ducked unnecessarily as the red and blue webbed hero flew gracefully over him. 

“Jesus,” Wade hissed, jumping backward from the ledge and inhaling in surprise. “Spidey, as much as I’ve been craving your ass in those tights, you shouldn’t swing over the head of someone about to step off a building.” 

Spider-Man snorted, and Deadpool turned, still amused, as he always was, by how easily Spidey made it look to stick to the sides of buildings. Like right now, feet curled around the door frame, knees bent around the corner, hands balancing himself perfectly in front of him. 

Wade was the first one to admit his shameless hero worship, but it was one of the few things that made his days pass easier. 

“Busy night?” Spidey asked. 

“You could say that,” he replied, retreating from the strange comfort he got from meeting the white eyes of Spider-Man’s mask. He pictured sometimes, when he was alone and really felt like shit, how the corners of his actual eyes must crinkle when he looked at him that way. He didn’t wonder if Spidey smiled when he looked at him; he was sure Spidey didn’t smile around him. 

“...Bad night?” Spidey persisted. 

“Neither of us have had enough booze for me to answer that question.”

[Fuck him up] White cackled. [Give you an actual reason to mash your brains. Make everyone hate you even more for touching their precious Spider-Man]

{No, no, we have to serenade him first. Sing him that Whitney Houston song you sob in the shower when jerking off to remembering Vanessa}

That hurt. 

“Night, Spidey,” he said, turning back to the ledge. “You might wanna shut your eyes for this.”

He held his breath and went to step when that damn web gripped him from behind and pulled him stumbling back from the ledge. 

“How’d you know bondage was one of my kinks?” he laughed, breathless at his near-miss. 

“You’ve listed off your kinks to me a hundred times,” Spidey replied, stepping down from the door and pulling Wade to him like a cowboy dragging a bull. “I have ‘em memorized.” 

He webbed Deadpool’s feet to the ground when he tried to pull away again and sighed in exasperation as he released the web on his back. 

“C’mon, ‘Pool, I haven’t seen you in weeks. Can we talk for a minute before you decorate the avenue with your insides?” 

Wade leaned over, pulling out his thigh blade and cutting through the webbing with embarrassing effort. The kid really was amazing. These webs were works of art. Even just the layers around his feet looked like spider work lace. Lace that took a fucking serrated K bar to cut through. And even then, there was still a ring of web around his boots that he knew would take days to get off. 

“Unless you wanna play with those kinks, I’m not in the mood, Spidey.” 

[He’s mocking you, Wade. Make him kiss the concrete] 

{But do it like a dance—you need some beauty in your life}

Wade slammed the butt of his knife handle against his temple. 

{Nice try, Merc. You’re stuck with us.}[Unless you splatter on the concrete like our entire fucking night was supposed to go, then maybe you’ll have a break] 

He hit his temple again, hard enough that he felt the imprint of it in his skin. 

“ ‘Pool, don’t do that!” Spidey exclaimed. “Don’t make me web your blade to the building across the street.” 

Wade startled at Spidey’s reaching hands and dropped the knife with a clang. 

“You’re up awful late tonight, Baby Boy. Don’t you have school tomorrow?” 

Spidey scoffed, somewhere between a laugh and a scowl, and Deadpool felt a warm bubble of pathetic joy flit through his chest. It was like the surge of warmth from alcohol, but much kinder. 

“I’m twenty-four, ‘Pool. Remember? You gave me a birthday present and everything.” 

He cringed and Wade laughed, though his gut chilled at the memory. Not that he really thought the moral paragon of Spider-Man would appreciate the two robbers who took shots at Spidey gagged and left naked in the shape of his birthday number. But it did seem like he appreciated the frozen yogurt and fried rice as his apology when Spidey was left to explain to the police how the robbers ended up in the foyer of the bank they robbed. It took a hell of a lot willpower to not kill the two bastards, but Wade reminded himself that Webs hated that thing. 

“Didn’t think you’d talk to me after that,” Wade laughed, turning and leering his sight over the edge of the building. The height was looking less appealing now. Maybe he needed a higher building. 

“I almost didn’t,” Spidey said, his voice tight. Then his tone changed. Maybe he was smiling? “But then you sent me those ridiculous cards and that giant birthday cake and that week’s supply of fried rice. It was hard to stay mad at you after that.” 

“And the frozen yogurt,” Wade laughed. “Too bad I didn’t know you hated pineapple.” 

Spidey chuckled. “Mixed with chocolate sprinkles and Swedish fish, it actually wasn’t bad.”

He was so good at faking liking Deadpool. Or at least tolerating him. 

“Well it’s been a nice walk through memory lane, but I have a full schedule for my night.” 

He turned back to the open air of the street and cars honking on the busy avenue a block away and was about to step off when Spider-Man walked over and sat on the roof ledge next to him, legs swinging nonchalantly back and forth. 

Wade stopped. He’d never offed himself in front of Spidey before. Died, yes. But never offed. 

There wasn’t really a difference between this and where Spider-Man was sitting before, but it felt much more volatile, personal, violent, to jump right in front of him. His eyes on him. 

If he let him jump, that is. 

“Baby Boy, go on home,” he urged, nudging Spidey’s arm with his foot and getting webbing on his arm. “And be sure to leave with your back facing me, so I have that delicious view to send me off to my brief demise.”

“Fuck, ‘Pool, stop talking like that. You’re so goddamn morbid.” He picked the web off his suit and stretched it between his fingers. 

He actually laughed at that. “You sound surprised, Webs.” 

“Not surprised, just...concerned.” 

Wade bit his lip, regretting not tossing himself over the side when Spidey first swung over his head. 

“You do remember I can’t die, right?” Wade laughed, suddenly exhausted and finding himself tempted to sit on the ledge beside Spider-Man. Like they were friends, or something. 

The superhero, the only hero Wade thought worthy to step into the Avengers tower, didn’t speak at first. Just sat, watching the skyline, his agile frame looking smaller than normal as he inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. 

Did it really bother him this much to see Deadpool doing this? 

He’d have to pick a better building next time. 

“You ever seen Groundhog Day?” Spider-Man asked. 

“No,” he replied curtly. 

He’d seen it a hundred times just last month. It was one of his favorite movies. 

“Phil’s just like you,” he continued, Wade wondering if Spidey knew he was lying. “He can’t die and he tries. Every kinda way you can think of. But he stops because it doesn’t help him.”

“Didn’t take you for a therapist.”

He stepped back onto the ledge, trying his damndest to ignore the comforting bodyheat of Spidey on the outside of his leg. 

“Don’t do it, ‘Pool,” Spider-Man said quietly. “Please.”

He sounded so sincere, so genuine, and Wade felt a tear drop inside his mask and fought the reflex to wipe his hand across the cloth covering his cheek. 

“Does it matter? It won’t work, anyway. Ten minutes, fifteen at the most, and I’ll be right as rain.” 

“It does matter,” Spider-Man snapped, voice raising. 

“Why?”

He paused. 

“Because you’re my friend—and I don’t want to see you hurt even if you heal from it.” 

Did he just call him his friend? Or was that a hallucination, too?

Deadpool stepped back, shaking his head and feeling utterly defeated against his resolve. He sat with a grunt on the roof edge beside him. 

“...I’m sorry about Vanessa,” Spidey murmured, barely turning his head.

It wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Deadpool was focusing on the pavement below him, the bottoms of his feet tingling as he thought about his ankles breaking if he let himself slip over the side. 

He’d forgotten he told Spidey about her. The only one he’d told other than Blind Al and Weasel. 

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you before,” Spider-Man continued. “I’m sorry I missed the funeral.”

“There wasn’t much to miss,” he muttered.

He didn’t know what he was thinking, reaching over and taking Spider-Man’s hand, but he did. And, shockingly, Spidey didn’t pull away. 

“You don’t have to be so nice to me,” he whispered, unable to stop himself from pressing the kid’s gloved hand before standing. “I don’t want the Avenging asswipes to give you any more shit than they already do.”

“Don’t be so blunt, ‘Pool—I won’t know how to reply if you’re not making a pass at me or humming one of those ridiculous show tunes that gets stuck in my head for three days.” 

Deadpool turned on his heel, the metal of the roof creaking under his weight. 

“I’m not jumping—not tonight. Too tired to pick myself up off the pavement and walk back up nine flights of stairs.” 

He hated himself more than a little for turning his back on Spidey, ignoring the hitch in the other man’s supersuit clad shoulders. He felt the unreal need to thank him, but he wasn’t sure for what. 

“See you tomorrow, ‘Pool,” Spider-Man called over his shoulders. 

“Who says I’ll be out here tomorrow?” Deadpool replied, not sure if it was anger, hesitation, or something much more unnerving making his breath hitch. 

“I’ll have tacos,” he replied. “Those real shitty ones you got me hooked on.”

“We’ll see if I’m that hungry tomorrow.”

“You’re always hungry,” Spidey laughed, and not for the first time, the back of Deadpool’s knees shivered at the sound. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Turns out, he is that hungry tomorrow. All he could think about waking up was tacos. 

Damn Spidey. Making him crave Mexican made him forget why he wanted to jump in the first place. 

Then the reminder smacked him across the face when he stepped into the bathroom and caught a whiff of her bodywash: ah, Vanessa. That’s right. 

Can’t let one moment pass before reminding himself of all the many ways he was a lousy piece of shit. 

He’d scrubbed down every surface of the room to get rid of her scent, but he could still smell it. 

To add to his already lovely morning, he burnt the last batch of pancakes he had ingredients for and dropped the hot spatula on his foot. 

This made him ugly cry into his baggy hoodie sleeve and curl up into his couch, jumping up a minute later when his kitchen almost caught fire when his potholder started smoking on the burner. 

Turning off the stove and waving the partially singed potholder to clear through the smoke, Wade gave up and left the kitchen, retreating through the door to the back step. The landlord generously called it a patio, but it was just a small landing which connected to the other myriad of fire escapes that reached the eight floors below to the street. He glanced from side to side, making sure there wasn’t anyone around, and laid back his hoodie, inhaling at the sickening combination of pain and relief from the damp morning air on his raw, sensitive skin. 

It always acted up especially bad when he didn’t sleep well, and he hadn’t slept more than an hour the night before. He wished he could shower without making the pain worse; he felt grimy and gross. 

Vanessa used to sit him in a half-filled tub of luke-warm water and Epsom salts, and she’d run the softest wash cloth she could find over every sore on his body. It was as painful for her as it was for him, but on those days when they crusted over and he was in paralyzing pain, he was so fucking grateful. 

Not that any of those memories mattered now. 

And the one thing he could possibly do to make up for it won’t work. 

He can’t fucking kill himself. And he’s tried every possible way he can think of. 

He knew the fall off the roof the night before wouldn’t do anything but give him a brief reset. But he had to do something. 

He thought of Spider-Man, and shivered. He’s joked, flirted, outright drooled over Spidey’s glorious muscles, abs, and ass, but truth was, he avoided staring at him too much in his suit to keep his mind from wandering. 

It was after a few patrols that a strange friendship started forming. 

Spidey deserved better than his lusting or his lonely appetite. 

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t remember falling asleep on his couch, but he did, sleeping away the day and bolting upright at 10 o’clock that night. He rushed to his room and pulled on his Deadpool suit. He hadn’t planned on patrolling tonight, but it would be a cold day in hell when he’d pass up a chance at free tacos. 

[Pervert] White hissed. [You just wanna get your grubby hands all over that kid] 

“He’s not a kid,” Wade hissed as he pulled the Deadpool mask over his face and made sure it was Velcroed tight behind his head and tucked into the neck of his suit. 

{Boy or not, you get hard just sitting next to him. Why don’t you tell him that the next time you’re feeling chummy?} 

Wade fought the temptation to punch his hand through the wall...again, and tightened his gun belt around his waist. It wasn’t just that there was no telling what kind of night they would be having; he felt naked without it. He reached behind his shoulder out of habit, only then remembering he left Bea Arthur on the roof the night before. He tore out of his room and up the stairs, praying nobody took them. When he found them, laid right behind his seat from the night before, there was a bag of tacos sitting between them, the Mexican spices making his mouth water. He looked around for Spidey but couldn’t see him and his heart sunk with his shoulders. Maybe he’d missed him? They usually didn’t meet until late, anyway, 9:30 or 10 being when they usually ran into each other. But maybe there was a robbery or some other such incident that needed Spider-Man’s attention. 

Or maybe he’d changed his mind about how much time he was wanting to spend with a crazy ass monster who had at least three wet dreams a week about Webs...and if he was honest, it was more. 

He wondered why Spidey bothered to leave him tacos if he didn’t plan on eating them when his spine tingled with surprise at seeing the web sling to that roof door. He happily stepped to the side to let Webs swing over and land on the concrete beside him. 

“You didn’t start without me, did you?” Spider-Man asked, Wade completely picturing a raised eyebrow under his mask. 

“Is that innuendo on purpose?” Deadpool snickered and Spidey groaned. 

“No,” he replied, shaking head, hands raised innocently. 

“Well, I’m grateful Bea Arthur didn’t get stolen,” Wade said, deflecting from what was certainly not flirting. 

Spidey beamed with what was no doubt a smile and a triumphant hand on his hip. “Thanks to me. I made sure they were well-hidden. Can’t have the thugs of the city thinking the samurai merc lost his trademark blades.”

Wade’s cheeks burned and he coughed in a chuckle. 

“Samurai, huh? That’s quite the compliment, Baby Boy.” 

He bent down to pick up the katanas and return them over his shoulders, and asked, “So what on God’s green earth would be important enough to leave a bag of tacos unguarded?”

Spidey shrugged, pulling over a drink container from behind him, the tops of both sealed with webbing to keep from spilling. 

“I know you like beer with your tacos, but I have to work early tomorrow,” Spider-Man said, shrugging. “And I figured a sugar fix was a good compromise.” 

Wade laughed. “Count me in!” 

He pulled Bea out of her sheath and grunted as he sliced through the webbing on the lids and set them aside. 

Spider-Man held up the two slushees. 

“Red Berry Blast or Blue Arctic Chill?”

Deadpool laughed as he resheathed Bea and sat on the roof ledge. “Both! Love that artificial berry chemical flavor. Nothing like that fake sugar sticking to the back of my throat and dyeing my tongue crazy ass colors.” 

Spidey shook his head, mouth crinkling in a smile under his mask, at least Wade hoped it was a smile and not a scowl. He poured a little of the red on the rooftop beside him. Pouring in the blue into the space left in the red slushee, Spidey kept this up until there were equal (more or less) amounts in both slushee cups, mixed to be a trippy color combo of red, blue, and purple. 

They soon fell into the comfortable rhythm they always did when they ate--plastic bag rustling and plastic cups squeaking in between the supers hands as they drank their quickly-turning-purple slushees. It was only around Spidey that Wade felt comfortable enough to lift his mask over the bridge of his nose to eat or drink--all the other supers, including those asswipe Avengers, still leered at him. They didn't blink twice at fucking aliens emerging from a tear in the sky, but they stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, when Wade last made the mistake to show up to the Tower to be debriefed after the incidents with the Kree in his hoodie and jeans. Last time he went anywhere without his Deadpool suit.

Wade glanced over to his eating companion with the excuse that he needed more hot sauce and couldn't help the goofy grin at seeing cheese and sour cream stuck to Spidey's chin as he shoved an obviously-too-large bite into his mouth. 

"Whuh?" Spidey asked through his bite and Deadpool laughed, shaking his head and taking another bite himself. 

It was hard to believe that they'd only met a year ago. 

Admittedly, it wasn't the best way to meet. Spidey intervened when Deadpool was holding a rapist over the ledge of a skyscraper, pants and boxers still gathered around his ankle from his crimes, while Deadpool told him all the possible ways he could die falling from a building that tall. Spider-Man webbed the predator back onto the roof, webbing his mouth shut, and carrying the criminal like a tied up damsel over his shoulder.

Deadpool screamed every possible obscenity at the criminal, and every possible bribe to Spidey to let him continue his torment on the asshole, and was met with the coldest silence--a silence that still haunted Deadpool's dreams.

It wasn't until Spidey went back to patrolling, and found Deadpool consoling the assaulted woman with a warm blanket and cup of hot chocolate from his favorite diner, that he actually spoke to him. He was urging her to report, and she was sobbing, but he didn't push her any further, only lifting his head from the pavement when he saw Spidey's shadow over his lap. 

Spider-Man extended his hand and said, "I'm Spider-Man...and I think we got off on the wrong foot before." 

Deadpool smiled, shaking the super's hand, but keeping his arm around the woman. "I'm Deadpool--and that's how all of my first impressions start." 

Webs chuckled at that, and knelt down in front of the woman, gently lifting her chin with his hand. 

"Ma'am, let us take you to the hospital." 

The woman looked from Webs to Deadpool, and Deadpool nodded. 

"He's right, sweetums. Let's go." 

After they dropped her off at the Emergency Room, and Deadpool threatened the ER staff with a very specific manner of torment if they hurt her, he and Spidey walked down the street as the sun was rising over the shimmering glass of the city's skyscrapers. 

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Spidey said as he stretched his arms, giving Wade an dizzying view of his washboard abs under his already too-tight suit. "Let's get some breakfast." 

That's what began their impromptu, steadily becoming consistent, meals together. Well, not together, together. Usually, it was just tacos on one of the rooftops, but sometimes a late-night patrol would lead them to having breakfast. 

Wade sometimes forgot that he had a journal in his bedside table where he wrote all of Spidey's terrible and hilarious quips that always split Deadpool's sides, along with letters he wrote, asking for help from a guy that was way too good for him, and he knew it. It just felt like Webs was the only one who would understand what he was going through, after Vanessa. After all the horrid changes he'd gone through. 

All things he deserved, no doubt. 

[You finally get what you want, sitting next to your barely-legal] White screeched in Wade's ear, making him wince around his sip of Slushee, [And you aren't saying a word]

{It's his lack of booze} Yellow whine. {He's more fun when he's drunk}

"Shut up!" Wade hissed, forgetting that he wasn't alone and ducking when he saw Spidey startle and set his drink down between them. 

"Boxes again?" 

Wade nodded, hating that his Baby Boy had to be exposed to his mental illness. It was only because Spidey was there after one of the downtown buildings exploded--Wade fortunately being the only victim--and Webs got to hear all Deadpool's rantings and ravings, because the self-righteous bubble butt refused to leave, even after all the other supers high-tailed it as soon as they saw the carnage. 

But Spider-Man held his hand, turned on Wade's TV, and talked him through the pain of regrowing his joints, his nerves, his muscles. Wade could hardly speak, but when he did, he was screaming at Yellow and White, who spent most of the time either screaming in his ears so loud, he couldn't hear anything else, or laughing at him for crying at the pain of regenerating from a pile of scarred and roasted flesh.

It was awful nice not to have to regenerate alone. Wade kept forgetting to thank him for that night.

Afterward, Wade bought him a bottle of expensive whiskey, assuming Spidey liked it since he forgot to ask, and explained to the gently proding Spidey who he was talking to. 

Webs wasn't shocked, or appalled, or disgusted. He got real quiet, clearing his throat several times before telling him that he was glad Wade was okay. 

He couldn't remember the last time someone told him that. 

Wade was a bite into his fifth taco when Spider-Man distracted him from his recollections. Sometimes he thought Spidey's Spidey Sense was telepathy, because so many of the times when Deadpool's thoughts overwhelmed him, Baby Boy offered his calming voice to bring him back to reality. Or at least, some version of reality.

“What do your boxes say to you, 'Pool?” 

He shrugged. “Lots of stuff.”

"Well, that's specific," Spidey teased. “Do they ever talk about me?”

Wade paused. 

Webs nudged his arm. 

“Oh, c'mon, you're still a terrible liar. What do they say?”

“Yellow thinks you’re hot,” Wade admitted. 

Spidey laughed. “What does White say?”

“...He says you’d be hotter if you didn’t wear a cup.”

At that Spidey is rolling, bent over his knees and laughing so hard he's choking and Wade whacked him on the back a couple times when it looked like he might actually have to resuscitate him. 

“They really say stuff like that?” Spider-Man asked when he could speak.

Wade shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the tightness in his gut. 

“Those are the nicer things they say,” he murmured, and he could tell by the way Spider-Man’s head stilled and the whites of his mask widened that he was watching him especially close. 

“That must suck,” he said eventually. “Do you ever have any peace from them?”

Wade nearly said, _When I’m with you_ but he stopped himself and shook his head. 

“Vanessa would get into movie trivia battles with them,” Wade laughed, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “White hated losing to her.”

He stopped, his laughter breaking down into tears and he covered his hand over the mouth of his mask, hunching over his knees as sobs choked him. 

[Stupid bitch] White hissed. [I’m glad she’s dead]

“Shut up!” Wade screeched, rolling backward with his katanas unsheathed and panting for breath. 

{Aw, poor little baby’s gonna cry} Yellow cooed. {Why don’t you tell Spidey about your dream last night? Or are you afraid he’ll see you as the pedophile you are and bolt?} 

“Stop it!” Wade screamed again, slashing feebly through the air. 

Fortunately, Spider-Man had moved from the ledge and was now standing behind him. 

“‘Pool,” he murmured cautiously, “please put Bea Arthur away. I’d rather not ruin an otherwise nice evening with my untimely disembowelment.” Spidey’s gloved hands were over his, his arms and shoulders stretched wide around Deadpool’s and Wade relaxed into the touch without thinking. 

“Sheath ‘em, ‘Pool. Or I’m taking them away.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Wade chuckled, heart breaking a little as he stepped out of Spidey’s hold and fit the katanas back in their sheaths and coughing awkwardly. 

He half-expected Spidey to make some crack at the terrible title he just gave him, but all Spider-Man did was roll his shoulders and shoot a string of web to the wall of the building next door. 

“See--see you later, ‘Pool,” he stammered. “Stay out of trouble.” 

He stepped off the edge of the building and swung away before Wade had a chance to say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised in the tags, I PROMISE there is smut coming. Gotta get my angst fix first. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is having a harder time (pun intended) ignoring how much more Spidey is forcing himself, just by virtue of being himself, into his head and his heart.
> 
> Tensions rise as both men begin to confront what their past means with both of them losing women they love, and if it’s possible to move on. 
> 
> Awful, nasty, but true things close this scene, and angst leaves a very bitter taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAMMIT.  
> THESE TWO IDIOTS.
> 
> Lots of introspection and facing old traumas and many, MANY hurt feelings. 
> 
> This was supposed to be sexy and sweet. GRRR.

He slammed the door to his apartment closed and shoved his hand down his boxers to relieve his straining erection as he tripped down the hallway and threw himself on his bed. He grunted and squirmed as he shucked his pants down past his knees, trying to focus on the feeling of his dick in hand—not on Spidey’s face or the touch of his arms, not the warmth of his chest pressed against Wade’s back, not the obvious fluster in Webs’ tone as he swung off so abruptly. 

He groaned with shame and suffocating pleasure at the squelch of his constricted fist as his hips thrust and his dick grew harder with each movement. Instead of just succumbing to the moment, to the pleasure he wanted so badly, he thought of Vanessa. He started sobbing, unable to remove his hand from where it stroked, but unable to let himself feel release, either. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t cum since she’d died...but he didn’t remember the last time it felt good. 

What finally made him cum, hot and pulsing and wet, tears streaking his cheeks and chest straining, was remembering the laughter in Spidey’s voice when he called his name—the kindness in the way he handed Wade his slushee. 

The way Spidey didn’t flinch when he touched him. 

To Webs, he was just another guy, even as Deadpool. Not a mutant—not a psychopath—not a monster. Maybe at first, that’s how Spider-Man saw him. Maybe it was how he still saw him. But now...Wade forgot about his suit, his skin, his bodycount leering at him with all-too-human eyes when Spidey talked to him. Even if Baby Boy was faking it...even if this was just the ultimate in forced patience and tight-lipped endurance, Wade felt safer on a high city ledge beside Webs than he’d ever felt with anyone. 

Except Vanessa. 

He wiped his shaking hand on a crusty towel on the bed, left over from his half-attempt at laundry a week before, and gagged at the smell of cum in the air. 

Yellow and White were right. He was a pervert. 

He curled up onto his bed and tucked his head under his pillow, only feeling safe to cry once his face was covered, and sobbed himself to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

It was 2 am when there was a series of rhythmic knocks on his bedroom window. Having it sealed shut with a nailed curtain for so long, Wade nearly forgot he had a window in his room, and bolted upright, hand on the nearest weapon—which happened to be his beloved shotgun, Betsy. 

“ ‘Pool? You there?” 

Wade nearly dropped the gun in surprise. “Spidey?!”

Looking down and realizing his boxers were still askew, he set Betsy on his bed and zipped his pants and double-checked that his mask was still tight around the back of his head. Not that he cared if Spidey knew his secret identity, but looking like a half-chewed meatball gave him something less than enthusiasm at being seen. 

[The last time you slept in your mask, you’d killed that three year old] White cackled. 

“That was an accident!” Wade wept through clenched teeth. 

{Tell that to her mother} Yellow jeered, both boxes laughing and grating down his chest like claws. 

She was caught in the crosshairs of a turf war between drug cartels in South Columbia, one of which hired him in his darker contracting days. 

He would swear on his impossible grave that the building was empty when he set the explosives. 

Her screams still woke him up.

“ ‘Pool, I know you’re in there,” Spidey’s muffled voice called again. “Let me in, I’m freezing!” 

Wade hesitated at the window shade, hand grasping where the fabric was torn and frayed around the nail hammered through it. 

“Meet me at the back door,” he replied, ignoring the increasing anxiety tightening his breath and shaking his knees. 

It’s not like this was the first time Spidey had been to his place. Why was he freaking out? 

Tramping past the bloodied clothes from last week’s 1,458th failed suicide attempt, he inhaled and exhaled, trying the breathing exercises Vanessa insisted would help him when he felt like this. Of course, he hadn’t given it real thought while she was still alive. 

[Your jizz is still on your pants, moron] White crooned. [Think he’ll figure out what you were doing?]

{If he doesn’t already guess} Yellow said. {Poor kid doesn’t know what he’s walking into}

He shut his bedroom door and glanced down his front, not finding a damn thing. 

[Made you look] 

{I knew he’d fall for that; always does}

He punched the wall behind him, wincing and scattering plaster at his feet. 

“ ‘Pool?” Spidey called from the back door, Wade turning and just able to see him with the dim lighting of the shitty street lights. “You alright?” 

“Peachy keen, jelly bean!” Wade called in as best a sing-song voice as he could manage. Unlocking the sliding glass door and pushing it to the side, he gestured inside. “Come in and warm your buns; not that they can get much hotter than they already are.” 

Spidey snorted and stepped down from where he was perched like a bird on the corner of the fire escape, shouldering a green and yellow backpack as he followed him, Wade shutting and locking the door behind him. 

Setting down the pack and unzipping it, Spidey shivered from the cold as he dug around inside it.

Wade snorted when he saw the plastic decal on the front. 

“Really? The Hulk?” 

“What?” he asked, a smile clearly seen through the face of his mask. “He’s a scientist! And Dr. Banner is an awesome guy. We all have our heroes, right?” 

“We sure do,” Wade murmured, eyes tracing the curve of the super’s back and down to where his strong and gentle hands fiddled with the three layered pockets on his bag. 

Wade’s favorite poster of Spider-Man mid-flight, clinging to the string of web as he lunged through the air, still hung on the wall above his door, so whenever he woke up from nightmares, Spidey was the first one he saw. 

He’d tried to hide his near-obsession from Vanessa, but she knew, of course, and got him a pair of Spider-Man mittens for Christmas last year. 

He still hadn’t worn them. They were wrapped in her favorite T-shirt and hidden in his keepsake box in the shelf above his closet. 

[Chicken shit] White growled [Tell him who your hero is]

{If he didn’t think you were pathetic before, he will now} Yellow cackled. 

He was sucker-punched suddenly with the memory of how soft Spidey’s hands were in his gnarled ones as he regenerated those few months ago. Had it really been that long?

They hadn’t talked about it afterward. 

Maybe it hadn’t meant anything? 

He was being an idiot. 

It hadn’t meant anything.

Spidey deserved better than the best. Not the rotting trash caught in the grate of a street drain. 

Which still didn’t explain why he’d woken Wade up in the middle of the night to dump what looked like half a 7-11’s supplies of Twizzlers, DingDongs, and Funyuns on his floor. 

“You look like shit, ‘Pool,” Spidey said as he stood with an overflowing armful of the snacks, his backpack hanging around his elbow. 

“Not all of us are Vogue ready like you.” 

“You don’t know what I look like under here!” Spidey chuckled. 

“Don’t need to, Baby Boy—I have more than an idea of how hot you are. And anyway, average schmoes, half-mutated possum-skins like me aside, almost always look like shit at 2 am, Bubble Butt.”

Spidey shrugged, the snacks crinkling where they crowded against his chin and chest. “I couldn’t sleep and I figured you couldn’t either.”

“And how’d you figure that?”

“When was the last time you slept well, ‘Pool?” 

Wade shrugged, hating and loving how easily Spidey’s words flayed him open. 

“And I didn’t mean how that came out,” Spidey said guiltily, shuffling past Wade to his living room. He kicked off the empty take out containers on the coffee table and dumped the snacks on it. “You don’t look like shit.” 

He shrugged off the affection that his apology flitted through his chest and said, “Even with my mask on, I radiate shit rays. It’s all good.” 

Spidey sighed, but didn’t say anything, and Deadpool felt both annoyed and guilty himself for making him feel bad. 

Wade didn’t realize how hungry he was until Spidey plopped down and ripped open a bag of Twizzlers and a package of DingDongs. Lifting his mask over his nose, he looked up at Wade and chomped on one of the chocolate pastries. 

“You got anything to drink?” 

Frozen by the familiarity of the question, Wade shook his head and said, “Oh, yeah, I’m sure I’ve got seltzer or vodka or strawberry banana something or other.” 

They ended up settling on water when Wade couldn’t find anything in his fridge or cupboards except a quite old bottle of half-used cooking Sherry and a jar of pickle brine. 

After refilling Spidey’s glass three times, Wade set a couple of water pitchers in between the pile of snacks on the table and helped himself to a bag of Funyuns, munching as he watched his unexpected guest. He’d tried to make Spidey either laugh or razz him with a terrible joke about offering him his hose, but his beloved bestie didn’t say anything. Just kept eating his junk food and slurping his water, as though this scene was completely normal. 

“What’s wrong, Webs?” Wade asked, nudging his arm, bags of chips crinkling under the movement. 

Mouthful of DingDong swallowed, Spidey inhaled to object, sighed, and his shoulders sank. 

“That obvious, huh?”

“I always know something’s up when I make a pass at you and you don’t even flinch.” 

Webs paused, looked at the half-destroyed DingDong wrapper in his hand. 

“You don’t have to bribe me with food, Spidey. I’m always here to listen.”

Wade could feel it as Spidey shuffled and hesitated—that awful construction in the kid’s chest as he spiraled into that black hole that tore open whenever someone tried to make him talk. 

They’d held hands a couple times by now. One more time wouldn’t hurt, right? 

Wade crumpled up his empty Funyuns bag and tossed it behind him, leaning over and taking Spidey’s hand. He rubbed his top knuckle with his thumb, remembering how that small gesture from Vanessa made him feel. 

[It’s a good thing your skin lesions aren’t contagious] White yipped. 

Webs paused, the whites of his masking crinkling as though he was going to cry, and he shook his head rapidly, letting go of Wade’s hand and reaching across the arm of the couch to his backpack. 

“Want a drink?” Webs asked, holding up a bottle of whiskey. 

Wade nodded eagerly and Spidey laughed, dry and clipped. 

He really was hard up. His laugh, usually like music to Wade’s dry heart, sounded like a shriveled audio reel. 

“I...had a nightmare. I couldn’t fall back asleep.” He took an impressively long swig from the bottle and passed it to Wade.  
“I knew you would understand what that was like, more than anyone else I’ve known.” 

Wade took a long drink, wiping his mouth on his forearm as he passed the bottle back. 

“About a girl, huh?”

Spidey shoved a couple of Twizzlers in his mouth and tore them in half with his teeth. Somewhere in the distractible action, Wade saw a nod. 

The deep-seated grief, so familiar to Wade in his own still-raw parallel, was suddenly so apparent in all of Spidey’s movements, the twitch as he wiped his hand across his mouth. 

“She died, didn’t she?”

Spidey’s breath hiccuped. 

“Yes. About a year ago.”

Just like Vanessa. 

Spidey sniffed and covered his mouth his hand, jaw quivering. 

{Way to go, asshole} White snapped. {You made the kindest person you’ve ever known cry}

[I’m surprised it took him this long]

Wade wanted to shoot himself in the dick. 

“No need to castrate yourself, ‘Pool, even if it’ll grow back,” Spidey laughed behind his hand, voice rough with tears. “I know you mean well. Even with your foot in your mouth, I appreciate it.” 

Ah, shit. He’d said that out loud. 

“How do you live with it, ‘Pool?” Spidey slurred, but Wade knew him well enough to know it wasn’t the alcohol; it was his grief. “She died because of me...I didn’t get there in time. I...I never make it in time. I’m always too late.” 

“You weren’t the other night,” Wade murmured. “You were on time to save me.”

Webs paused, liquor splashing from the top to the bottom of the bottle as he lowered it from his mouth. He quietly set it on the table and tossed the cap beside it. 

“How many times have you killed yourself this year?” Webs asked quietly, harshly, a razor sheering through silk fabric. “I know you count ‘em, ‘Pool. How many?”

He’d run out of room on the notches on his closet door, carved in with increasing anger by his pocket knife. 

“When you can look me in the eye and tell me you want to help yourself, and not blame yourself for her, then I can say I’ve actually saved one person. But you don’t want help, ‘Pool. You don’t want to heal. You’ll keep killing yourself until one day, you aren’t anything but a pulsing heap of bone and mangled tissue.”

Even White and Yellow were speechless at this rebuke. 

Wade stood, grabbing the bottle and downing nearly half, choking and sputtering and pounding to his room. 

“Fuck off, Spider-Man,” Wade hissed. “You’d better be the hell out of here when I wake up, or I’m throwing you out that window myself.”

The words were an empty threat, and they both knew it, but Wade was more hurt than he’d remembered being in decades. Not since washing Vanessa’s blood from his hands. 

He slammed his door shut so hard the frame cracked, and he stood on his toes and tore down his Spider-Man poster, ripping it to shreds and downing another length of the whiskey.

He’d just fallen on his bed, room spinning with anger and liquor-induced nausea, when there was a knock on the door. 

“ ‘Pool?”

“Get the fuck out, Webs. The next time I answer it’ll be with my shotgun.” 

A minute later, Wade heard the back door squeak and shudder as it was closed, and he downed the rest of the bottle, curling up into a ball and vomiting onto that same crusty blue towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I’ll make up for these two idjits with lots of delicious, fluffy smut later. For now, cry with me and these two dinguses unable to communicate with each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spidey asks forgiveness with a carton of milk, some word vomit ensues, and both men are finding themselves unable to stay apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put on your seatbelts, kids. We’re in for a bumpy and smutty ride. But be warned: airbags will be deployed before we’re done. Unfortunately. 
> 
> Seriously though: I have to put a TRIGGER WARNING here. There is major mental disturbance in this one, including a dissociative episode, psychosis, and near-attempted suicide. I will update the tags for this, as well. Please tread carefully at the end of this chapter.

He buried her on a Wednesday. 

It was her favorite day of the week. The strip club was usually slower than normal and they could sneak a quickie in the back when her manager wasn’t looking. Then after her shift, he would take her for midnight ice cream before giving her a piggyback ride home. It was the smallest amount of normalcy he had before flying off to another sewage hole rat trap for another paycheck. 

Weasel only came to the funeral because Wade sautered the front door of his bar shut, and Blind Al showed up even though he told her not to. 

Domino gave the eulogy. Wade insisted because she didn’t know Vanessa, and could read the dribble he wrote without emotional bias. 

She still cried, and so did everyone else. 

There was only one other person at the graveyard that morning. A young guy in a black suit and tie and standing, arms clasped in front of him like a forlorn child in front of a tombstone, the grave marker worn from the nagging of the incessant winds that blew over the cemetery. 

Wade didn’t cry until after the funeral, when he was alone and pawing at the base of the carven angel statue he paid a literal ransom for, kneeling in the mud and cursing the day he was born in between banging his head against the base. 

He’d broken his nose—it was already healed by the time Wade wiped the blood off his chin. 

He jumped, startled, too tired and too drunk to move, when he felt a startlingly warm hand on his shoulder. 

He turned, and saw the young man, suit jacket unbuttoned, brown bangs streaming in front of his eyes from the rain over tired and grief-sunken eyes. Even with the rainwater distracting the man’s face, Wade could tell he’d been crying, too. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he whispered, squeezing Wade’s shoulder in a surprising show of familiarity and chivalry. 

It made Wade cry harder, squeezing his eyes shut as his shoulders shook. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, surprised he could speak. “Yeah, thanks.”

The man patted him again, and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, hesitating, then turned and walked down the mud-splattered gravel path of the cemetery. 

The warmth from that kid’s hand would haunt Wade’s sleep for days. 

~~~~~~~~~

Wade was drinking his breakfast over the kitchen sink. It was nearly noon, and he couldn’t stand the stench of laying in bed beside his refuse from getting sick the night before. He knew he’d have to clean it up, and wondered vaguely how much he’d have to pay Blind Al to clean it for him. She’d probably just set it on fire, which isn’t something he’d be averse to. 

He’d just finished the pickle brine, and to get that horrible taste out of his mouth, he was now drinking the cooking Sherry and glaring at the box of cereal he had. 

He could change out of his Deadpool suit and go get a carton of milk. He could go get the milk in his Deadpool suit as far as that goes, but it was covered in a variety of vomit stains that he didn’t feel like flouting in public. 

The truth was, he was tired. And was half-considering pouring the putrid Sherry over the cereal, when a carton of milk knocked against his window, held up by a red and blue gloved hand.

Spidey lowered the milk, shifting closer to the window from where he stuck to the balcony railing. 

“I suck at apologies,” Webs continued, voice heavy with remorse. “But...I really am sorry, about last night. I was a total douche, and took my own guilt and anger out on you. I couldn’t think of any other way to apologize, and when I stopped by here a few minutes ago and saw you glaring at your cereal, I figured, a little dairy won’t hurt, right?”

Wade wondered what Spidey’s eyes looked like, just now. Sparking blue? Luscious brown? Dusky grey? The whites of the super’s mask were half closed, crinkled, and Wade suddenly wanted nothing more in his entire life than to see what Spidey looked like. 

Deadpool lowered his own mask in rebellion against the vulnerable thought and opened the window, slowly reaching out for the carton.

Setting the milk on the counter, he rinsed out a bowl in the sink and tore open the cereal box, pouring and spilling more on the counter than in the bowl. He followed with the milk, miraculously able to open it with ripping the spout in half. 

“What are you doing here?” Deadpool hissed. 

He wanted to be mad. He really did, and part of him still was, but that small gesture did more than he would ever admit out loud. 

Spidey fidgeted. 

“I was worried you’d...do more than just drink. Hurt yourself...or somebody else.”

Deadpool’s stomach soured and he narrowed his eyes. 

“Can you fucking blame me?”

Spidey deflated, and Wade didn’t feel any better for snapping. 

“Besides,” Wade grumbled, digging a spoon out of the utensil drawer (amazed that he found a clean one), “I know you don’t like that kind of thing.”

“...Why do you care what I think?” Spidey asked, his voice soft and afraid—the complete opposite of what it was normally like. 

“That’s a damn good question,” Wade hissed, slamming the window shut and pounding to the living room.

The window squeaked as it slid open, Wade realizing too late that he’d left it unlocked. 

He flopped into his recliner, bits of cereal and milk spilling over the bowl and down his pant leg. He cursed and set the bowl on the table beside his Throne and scoured the floors for his controller. 

“This what you’re looking for?” 

Wade lifted his head and saw Spidey beside the kitchen counter, holding up his remote. 

Refusing to move or respond, Wade picked up his cereal and lifted a full spoon to his still-masked mouth and cursed, ignoring the giddy jump in his gut at Spidey’s half-stifled chuckle. He raised his mask over his nose, making noisy work of slurping his spoonful and felt the queasiness in his stomach fade as he swallowed. 

He was a third bite in when Spidey spoke again. 

“Her name was Gwen Stacy.”

Deadpool shut his eyes. He remembered the name, but didn’t realize they were connected beyond that terrible day. 

“I didn’t catch her in time,” Spidey muddles, voice tight and broken. 

“Webs, you don’t have to—“

“No, I do. Of all the people in this city, and of all the supers I know, you get this more than anyone. And I should’ve remembered that last night, instead of lashing out at you for knowing how I felt. Because you do, ‘Pool. You really do.”

Wade held his breath as Spidey did, shuffling on his feet and fiddling with the microfiber webbing on his gloved hands. 

“I nearly took a tumble off the Empire State Building myself a week afterward. I don’t know why it took so long to hit me—maybe just the shock of it all. I couldn’t forget how small and frail she felt in my hands, as the breath exhaled out of her. It was my fault. That...that’s something I’ll carry with me forever. It’s not ever something I can pocket away and forget about. But isn’t that strange though? I don’t ever want to truly forget that day. I don’t want to forget about her, in any way. You get that, don’t you, ‘Pool?”

The sweater Vanessa was shot in, warm mauve with a scooping neckline, still hung in the front of his closet, in front of where he hung his Deadpool suit...when he hung it up, that is. 

“I do,” Deadpool echoed, leaning forward on firmly planted feet. 

Spidey inhaled, and paused. 

“If you could actually die, would you still try so hard to kill yourself?”

Apparently it was the universe’s goal to suckerpunch Wade with every word Spidey ever said to him. 

“...I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging and cradling his bowl between his hands, the movement of cereal in the gifted milk giving him a spike in anxiety that made his head spin. 

It was silent for the longest minute of Wade’s life, when suddenly, Spidey laughed. 

“That’s a better answer than I thought you’d give me,” Spidey replied in an adorably chipper and surprised tone. 

He still hesitated at the counter, scuffing his red and blue webbed boot back and forth across the floor. 

“Would it be alright if I hung out here for a while? I called off work, and I don’t want to sit and stew all day.” 

Wade lifted his head up, nodding, lips forming a crooked smile.

“Of course, Baby Boy.”

Spidey wasn’t seated on the floor beside Wade’s chair ten seconds before he leaned against Wade’s knee, and reached up to grasp Wade’s hand. 

“I’m really sorry,” Spidey murmured, so quiet Wade hardly heard him. “I can’t believe you aren’t throwing me out like you threatened. I definitely deserve it.”

“I would never hurt you, Webs,” Wade replied, stroking Spidey’s fingers before lacing their digits together. “Even if you were wrong, I would never. And you weren’t wrong.”

“Anything I can do to earn your trust back?”

Wade smiled, setting the bowl out of the way and leaning forward to kiss the top of Spidey’s head, his cheeks flaming and heart pounding. To Wade’s utter delight and comfort, Spidey relaxed at the touch, and leaned further back against his leg. 

“You’ve already done it,” Wade replied. 

Spidey’s eyes squinted. “Done what?”

“Showed up.” 

Wade exhaled as though this revealed a deep truth about himself, and maybe it had, and tugged down his mask in a ridiculous attempt to hide his blushing cheeks. 

“You know what, Spidey? When I was a kid, I used to sing myself to sleep with lullabies I heard on tv, because I was too afraid of my mom to ask her.” 

Spidey leaned his head into the crook of Wade’s knee. 

“Shit, ‘Pool. I’m sorry.”

Wade stroked Spidey’s cheek, cupping his fingers on the back of his head, watching those white mask eyes as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered. Because, for that stretch of time, there really wasn’t. 

“Now we’ve both spilled our guts today. C’mon, let’s kick each other’s asses in MarioKart.”

~~~~~~~~~

It was past ten that night when Spidey shuffled past their takeout leftovers and empty beer cans and hovered at the back door, hands clasped in front of him, shifting from side to side and hesitating in leaving, and hesitating in staying. 

Wade was waiting for him to ask. 

All he had to do was ask. 

But he knew Webs too well to even think about Wade asking him. Not yet. 

Spidey had to be the one to make the first move. 

But even so...Wade almost kissed Spidey’s cheek before he said goodbye and clambered out the window and swung away into the noisy backdrop of the city. 

~~~~~~~

Wade ended up just flipping the disgusting mattress over, deciding to just buy a new one the next morning, and fell into a dead sleep for the first time in months. 

But apparently he really had up and died in his sleep because he woke up to warm thighs straddling him and a hurried voice saying, 

“ ‘Pool, wake up—I’m gonna fuck you.”

No other syllables ever uttered could get Wade awake or aroused so quickly, his cock standing at painfully-hard attention at Spider-Man, in all his red and blue spandexed glory, straddling him and rubbing his very obviously cup-free dick, erect and leaking wet though his suit, against Wade’s. 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he slurred, fizzling sleep and drowning arousal making him sound drunk to his own ears. 

A groan punched out of Wade’s chest as he dug his fingers into Web’s hips as they rocked against him. The super ducked down to wrap his arms around Wade’s shoulders and stick his tongue down his throat, neither of which Wade minded in the least. 

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Wade laughed breathlessly around Spidey’s tongue. 

“You didn’t,” Spidey chuckled slyly, trapping Wade’s lips in his and sucking the breath from his lungs. 

Clothing flew across the room amidst accidentally-elbowed guts and smacked cheeks until they were both bare of everything but Spidey’s mask, Wade only then realizing he wasn’t wearing his own. 

He didn’t even have the chance to freak out before Spidey panted like he was scaling a mountain, precum dripping from his rock-hard dick and making them both gasp. 

“Leave it...please...” Spidey groaned, running his bare fingers over Wade’s face, down his neck and chest and up again, “your skin, your scars, god, you’re so hot...I love seeing your eyes...oh god, your cheekbones, those lips...I will never forgive that glorious mouth for making me choose between pounding that magnificent ass and making you swallow my cock...”

“R-rain check, Spidey, rain check, because oh my fucking god I will suck you off ‘til Armageddon if you give me the chance—“

He thrust up against him, again and again and again, until Spidey was curled into Wade’s neck and begging for him to thrust harder, to make him cum, to make him feel him even more. 

Wade didn’t know how he held out so long, but Spidey slotted himself hard and fast against him and came mere breaths before Wade did, splattering a glorious mess between the both of them. If Wade wasn’t so exhausted from the surprise of the bedmate and the boner from heaven, he would’ve licked up the puddle himself. 

But before he could think to sit up and do just that, Spidey kissed Wade’s cheek sloppily, exhaustedly, wet with his tongue flicking at his jaw, and stood, letting himself into Wade’s bathroom. Wade shut his eyes, trying to keep his grip on whatever reality was actually here before the cruel illusion ended. This had all the hallmarks of the wet dream hallucination. 

But he held his breath, grit his fingernails into his palms, and waited for Yellow and White’s cruel jabs, and nothing. Still sticky, still dazed, still warm from those lanky, muscled limbs wrapped so desperately around him. 

“Your hot water takes forever,” Spidey said quietly, returning to the bed and sitting beside him, the smallest tuft of brown hair curling out from underneath where his mask was pulled up. 

Wade tucked the strands back inside, and let his hand linger at the base of Spidey’s neck. 

“You can lay down, if you want,” Wade murmured, terrified to ask. 

Spidey smiled, full lips still puffy from their desperate kissing, and slid in beside him, running the tepid washcloth over their midsections until they were clean. 

“Can I lay my head on your chest?” 

Wade’s eyes burned. “Sure,” he replied. 

Even hookers he’d paid didn’t want that. His skin made even the thought of affectionate touch an impossibility. 

He fit just perfect against him. 

Like two puzzle pieces. 

He could hear Vanessa now, laughing that wonderful laugh at how cheesy Wade was. But she loved it. 

And maybe Spidey would, too. Someday. 

“I bought you a new poster,” Webs murmured, settling under Wade’s chin as though it were the most natural action in the world. “Not my best angle, but it was the closest one I could find to match the one you tore up.”

Wade hesitated. “You saw that?” 

Spidey nodded, tracing his fingertips over Wade’s peck. The sensation was slightly painful, and entirely worth it. 

“Thanks, Webs,” he murmured. “That...means a lot.” 

Spidey nodded, as though he were reassuring himself, and Wade clasped him tighter. 

“There was a little boy, at the morgue last night,” Webs said suddenly. “On the way back from your place and...I found his mother, in an alley. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old. He just stood at the viewing window, wide-eyed and silent. He didn’t even cry. Just stood there, alone at the edge of the world. He looked so much like you, ‘Pool. Like when I said all those horrible things, whether or not they were true.” He shuddered. “I could hardly swing home. I thought...what if I lost you? What if what I said actually happened?” 

He snuggled into Wade’s chest, nuzzling his neck with tender kisses. 

“I fucking love you, Deadpool,” he whispered, “And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“Wade.” His fingers caressed down the other’s back and his lips pressed his temple. “Call me Wade.”

“Wade,” Spidey repeated, drawing out the syllables and squirming closer to him, tightening his arm around him. “I love you, Wade.”

Wade inhaled, exhaled, having to nearly swallow his tongue to keep from replying in kind. 

He could’ve sworn he caught the silver-grey shimmer of Vanessa’s eyes in the moonlight spilling through his bedroom door, could’ve sworn he saw her soft smile and her upraised hand as she waved to him. 

It’s alright, he heard her say. Let go. 

“I love you, too,” Wade replied, cupping his hand along the other’s hip. “I love you, Spidey.”

The super’s warm breath brushed Wade’s chest, rhythmic and slow, and he didn’t need to look to know he was asleep. Before he knew it, he was asleep, too. 

~~~~~~~~

The bed was cold when he woke the next morning. 

He reached an expectant arm out beside him and stilled when he opened his eyes and found himself alone. 

Other than the poster, hung in its place above his door, there was no sign of Spidey anywhere. That was the only shred of evidence that he hadn’t hallucinated the entire damn thing. 

{I knew we shouldn’t have gotten our hopes up} 

Wade tossed aside the blanket, glancing back and forth across the room, as though his beloved would materialize if he looked hard enough. 

[Have the Avengers taught you nothing, Wade? All the supers are pricks and assholes, with nothing better to do than remind you how little they care] 

“He…he didn’t even leave a note,” Wade whimpered as he stooped from the bed and stumbled blindly through the house, knocking his shins and his feet and his shoulders on the walls, the doors, the furniture. 

{He didn’t tell you his name, either} 

“His identity is more important than mine...he said he loved me...he did, he said it, he did! He loves me!!”

[Assholes. All of ‘em. You’re better off sticking your dick in something more obliging] 

{But he likes bottoming, remember?} 

Wade crouched on his knees, eyes screwed tight, hands clapped over his ears, trying to drown out the noise. 

[You should burn the place down, Wade, like we’ve done before; get rid of him, and any memory of her] 

{They never deserved you—we’re the only ones who will treat you right...the only ones who know what you’ve been through...the only ones who ever truly loved you. Even Vanessa couldn’t know you, in all your screaming, wretching, shitting glory}

[You need us, Wade. You have nothing else. You have no one else] 

[{No one but us}]

{[No one BUT US]}

{{[[NO ONE BUT US]]}}

They sang and screeched and shrieked this same chorus over and over again, leaving Wade rocking back and forth as he sobbed, pain stabbing through his chest and down his legs, blood dripping down his hands from where his fingernails cut the skin over his ears. 

_Shut up the voices  
Shut them up  
Shut up the voices  
Shut up the voices  
Shut up the voices  
Turn off the sound_

The pistol was in his hand and the trigger was cocked when his sight went black, Wade unconscious before he hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry. I wanted to punch myself in the face after this one. 
> 
> It does get better, I promise. Good things are coming.
> 
> And I know I rag on the Avengers in this, but I really do love em. But we all know how terribly they treat Wade. 🤷♀️


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade deals with rejection in unfortunately expected ways, he makes a new friend, and the only mentor Wade trusts makes a cameo.
> 
> And Spidey and Wade are both dumb and cruel in their own ways because neither of them are good at communicating anger and frustration and affection in ways that don’t hurt each other or themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I facepalmed writing this SO. MANY. TIMES.
> 
> We’re riding on four flats and scraping the rims on this one, kiddos.
> 
> Lessons are finally learned by these two. (Hopefully! *sigh*)

Wade woke up in a hospital bed. 

Tugging at the IVs hooked to his arm, he screamed and thrashed and demanded to know who had the balls to restrain him. 

He didn’t notice the chair in the corner was occupied until the figure rushed over to him, arms raised and eyes wide. 

“Woah, woah, hey! Take it easy, man, it’s alright.” 

It was that kid from the graveyard. Wade could never forget those earthen brown eyes, or that mop of brown hair perfectly messy, though it looked far different now than it had in the cemetery, dripping with rain. 

He shivered, the memory calming him more than he expected. 

“What in hell—“ Wade tugged again at the restraints, wincing at the IV, and said, “What am I doing here?”

The kid’s brows met in concern, his feet shuffling. “I was walking to work this morning, and I found you on the sidewalk, unconscious.” He shrugged, lifting his head, eyes unreadable. 

He was wrapped in a hospital gown but was still in his mask, and the kid beat him to his question. 

“Don’t worry—I made sure they didn’t do anything to your suit. It’s hanging up on the back of the door.”

Oh. 

That’s right. 

He remembered now. And wished to God he didn’t. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After he’d passed out, and woke up alone and drooling on the floor, Wade forced himself into his suit and out onto the rooftop, as though the bastard that left without even a “fuck off” would be waiting for him outside. 

Deadpool spent most of the day in and out of bars, Mexican joints, and the porno theater down the street, heart so broken and body so exhausted, he couldn’t focus on the movie and was just grateful for somewhere dark and out of the way. 

He was on his way home, still taking the rooftops out of spite, when he saw him—barely a flash of red and blue between the alleys of the building, but it was him. 

Inhaling a breath as deep as it would go, Wade stood on his tiptoes and screamed, “Spidey’s naked ass is the eighth wonder of the world! And his dick is—“

He was knocked flat on his back, Spidey’s boot in his mouth, before he got to finish. 

“For once in your goddamn life, ‘Pool, shut your mouth!”

Wade bit down and Spidey yelped, jumping backward with a curse and about to web off the building when Wade stopped him with an iron-tight hold around his ankles.

“Let go, ‘Pool!”

“No!”

Webs freed his legs with that damn super strength and Wade scrambled upright to catch up with him, grabbing onto his shoulder and stumbling as Spidey shook him off. 

“Leave me alone!”

“Not until you tell me what happened last night! Why the fuck are you acting like this, Webs?! I didn’t force you into my bed!”

Spidey knocked Deadpool’s feet out from under him and webbed the center of his chest, dangling him over the edge of the twelve story building. 

Wade swallowed hard, steel-tied boots scrambling to find purchase on the brick edge as he clung to the webbing. 

“Webs...Webs, please...”

“Why shouldn’t I drop you?!” Spidey hissed, voice thick and cracked. “I know you won’t leave me alone otherwise...so why the fuck shouldn’t I get you out of my hair this way?!”

He didn’t know if he could handle it if Spidey killed him. Anyone else, he wouldn’t give a damn. But not Spidey. 

“...Because you love me,” Deadpool replied, hands tensing on the webbing. He could feel his shoulders starting to separate from the pull and he grit his teeth, ready to wait like this for hours if it meant getting Spidey to talk to him. 

He wasn’t that fortunate; Spidey just grunted and cursed, pulling him up and releasing the webbing, leaving him panting for breath on the roof, Deadpool pressing his hand to the torn muscles aching across his chest. 

Spidey didn’t wait a second—he’d already swung to the roof next door. 

Wade stood and ran to the edge of the roof, shouting, “You’re supposed to be the mature one!”

Spidey, web already slung to take him across the street, hesitated. 

“I gave you my name, Spidey!” Wade called. “Doesn’t that mean anything?!”

“I didn’t make you tell me your name.”

“But I did, because I trusted you!”

The whites of Spidey’s eyes were slits, and Wade hoped with everything in him that his eyes were closed, and not that he was glaring at him. 

“—Go home, Deadpool!” Spidey shouted haltingly, voice cracking like a teenager. 

Wade froze. 

He never called him that.

As though responding to Wade’s thoughts, Spidey said again, “Don’t make me call the cops on you, Deadpool! Go. Home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

That was two days ago. 

He must’ve really hammered it in to have a memory blackout. He remembered the act of drinking, but not how much, or what, he drank. Whatever booze it was, it must’ve taken most of his savings to buy it. His healing factor made getting drunk at all a total bitch. 

Wade came back to his thoughts at the entrance of a woefully homely nurse, not able to feel bad at the thought when she glared at him with eyes that looked like angry marbles. 

She apparently decided Wade wasn’t able to speak because she ignored him and spoke to the kid as though he were Wade’s guardian. Not that he would object to being kept by such a lad. Rarr. 

“Other than his manic anger episodes,” the nurse said, glaring at Wade again over her shoulder, “we can’t find one thing wrong with him. We’re going to discharge him today.” 

“Not today—now,” Wade hissed, tugging again at his restraints. “And get these things off of me.”

She huffed, unbuckling the buckles and walking crisply back to the kid. 

“And before you leave, sir, I need to get your name one more time since you helped us restrain him last night.”

Wade’s chest clenched and he wanted to throw himself out the window. 

“No problem—it’s Peter Parker,” the kid replied, voice deeper and firm, kind and authoritative.

Wade’s gut fell to his knees. 

He knew that voice. That authority, that gentlemanly posh that Wade had attempted in his own superhero identity and could never master. 

Unlike Spidey. 

He shook his head, pressing back into the unforgiving pillow. 

He was hallucinating. It couldn’t be him.  
Not after what happened. 

The nurse gone after an exceptionally long glare at Wade, he and the kid were left alone. 

“Well, thanks, Peter, for your help. Though it’s not necessary.”

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, it was. You’d do the same if you saw me on the street, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d do more than that if you gave me the chance,” Wade chuckled, less energy in his flirtation than normal. 

“Hey, want to split a cab? That way I can at least make sure you get home okay.”

Wade looked into his brown eyes, digging there to discover what he knew he wouldn’t find, and shook his head. 

“Nah, I’ll be fine. But I’m happy to pay for your fare, anyways—I know what I’m like when I’m drunk, and I feel like shit thinking about what you must’ve put up with last night.”

Peter shrugged. “That’s as noncommittal answer as I can stand; c’mon, it’s one cab ride. And if you’re paying for my fare, you might as well come along.”

He was smiling, head tilted, and Wade could almost believe it was genuine. 

Maybe it was, and he was just too jaded to tell the difference. 

Paperwork signed and a hefty donation to the nurses’ foundation cup sitting on the charge nurse’s desk, and Wade and Peter left the hospital, Peter whistling for a cab on the curb, Wade catching himself admiring the slope of the kid’s arm and the muscle tone in his shoulder through the pull of his T-shirt. 

Peter handed Wade his black satchel backpack as they climbed in to the cab, and Wade couldn’t help but think of Spidey’s hulk backpack. 

“Where to?” the driver asked. 

Wade nodded to Peter. “Go ahead. I don’t want you to be subjected to my digs. You’ll be better off staying out of that neighborhood.” 

Peter gave the driver his address and they started off, Wade staring out the window and exhaling slowly. 

_It’s not Spidey...it’s not..._ Wade reminded himself sternly, over and over again as the innocent brush of Peter’s thigh against his sent shivers straight to his gut and down his groin. 

He shifted again and Peter noticed, because of course he would. 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

That voice. Dammit. This was going to be the longest cab ride of his life. 

“Yeah,” Wade stumbled through suddenly exhausted lips. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

He hesitated, then burst out with the question he’d been holding in since he’d woken up and didn’t find himself alone. 

“Why did you stay at the hospital? It’s not like you had to.” 

Peter shrugged, stretching back against the seat. 

“I’m a big fan of yours, Deadpool. And even if I wasn’t, what kind of guy would I be to let someone lay unconscious in the street without doing something to help? And when I saw how much trouble you were having, being hulled up in the hospital bed, I decided to stay.”

“But why?” Wade asked. “That’s what the hospital staff is for.” He swallowed, taking a huge risk in saying, “It’s not like you know me or anything.”

Peter just shrugged, no more disturbed by the question than he was by any of the others. 

“You seemed to calm down when I talked to you, so I just jabbered away until the sedatives put you to sleep. And before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep, too.”

The cab came to a stop in front of a tired, old apartment building only a few blocks from the hospital, and Peter sighed. 

“Well, I couldn’t think of any other way to do this to a guy I just met twelve hours ago, but...could I get your number? I promise I’m not a stalker or anything.”

Wade laughed, heart pounding. 

“Don’t worry, Peter. I know you’re not. And you can call me Wade, if you like.” 

They exchanged cell phones to type in their numbers, Wade seeing with a blush and a grin that Peter had put his name in with a red heart emoji beside it. 

“Text me!” Peter called through the window as the cabbie drove off.

Wade nodded and waved, ignoring the truth he knew in his gut, far too exhausted to try and figure out what all of this meant. Or if it meant anything beyond that damn heart emoji. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The X-Men mansion was huge. Wade hated it, and told Professor Xavier so. The professor laughed. 

“You’re the one who took up my invitation, Mr. Wilson,” the older man said. 

Professor X tilted his head to one side and back, surveying him. 

“What brings you here today?”

Wade shifted uneasily in the overly-cushioned chair, seated across from X’s wheelchair. 

“Can’t you just read my mind and get it over with?”

The older man chuckled, voice warm and deep. Wade liked to imagine that’s what his actual father would have sounded like. 

“That’s not the point of our conversations, Mr. Wilson. I certainly can read your mind, but I don’t think that’s what you actually want.” 

Wade curled in on himself, guilt eating him alive. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

“It’s alright, Wade,” Professor X murmured, urging his wheelchair forward a touch. “You can be honest...what would you like help with?” 

“Can you make my boxes...s-stop?” 

Professor X lowered his eyes. “Not permanently, I’m afraid. But you may find for our time here today, they are quieter, and more at ease.” 

Wade hadn’t realized until then that he hadn’t been harangued by either White or Yellow since walking in. 

“Why can’t you take them away?” he asked. “I know you have the power, Doc.”

The older man shook his head. “That is not something I am able to do, even with my powers. The only reason you can’t hear them now is because I’m sending hypersensitive wavelengths to calm your inner senses against them.” 

“What causes ‘em, X?”

“...You know what caused them, Wade.” The professor’s eyes grew somber. “I can’t undo what happened to you, as much as I’d like to.”

Wade went to stand when Professor Xavier urged his wheelchair closer, hand raised to stop him. 

“Please don’t leave yet. I won’t force you to stay, but even if I can’t remove your boxes, that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything we can do. You may find just sitting and talking out your worries without their interruptions will help more than expected.” 

Deadpool curled his fingers into tight fists, feeling like he was being given false hope for healing, and yet he didn’t have the strength to resist it. 

He wanted help. He did. 

He just never needed it before. Or so he liked to tell himself. 

Wade sat back down, his eyes cemented to the lavish carpet. 

“Why are you here, Wade?” Professor X asked again. 

Wade shifted and shrugged uncomfortably, feeling like he was being peeled apart by those eyes. 

“I dunno,” he replied. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And killing myself again isn’t gonna help. I’ve tried, so many fucking times.”

When Wade lifted his eyes, the professor was smiling, a sad, knowing smile, tinged with the barest hints of hope. 

“Did Spider-Man send you?”

Wade nearly fell out of the chair as he recoiled backwards. 

“No! No, he...he has no idea that I’m here. Not that he’d care either way.” His eyes burned, and he shucked his hands nervously across his cheeks, wiping away tears that hadn’t spilled yet. “Wait...why did you ask if Spidey sent me?”

“Because you’re not the only one who comes to see me...and he’s brought you up before.”

Wade leaned forward eagerly. “What has he said about me? Was he here last week, the week before? Tell me, X, I’m losing my fucking mind wondering what’s happening with him.” 

“You know I can’t tell you that...but I will say, I haven’t seen him here, in this capacity, in several weeks.” 

Wade deflated back into his chair, crossing his arms and legs and pouting. 

“I figured Spidey would just confide in Iron Dickwad, not you.”

Professor X chuckled. “Sometimes it’s easier to face the problems our life presents when we’re not confiding in a father figure, as Spider-Man views Mr. Stark.” He paused. “Or in a lover, as he sees you.”

Wade’s mouth dropped, and Professor Xavier smiled. 

“Give him time, Wade. He’s more willing than you think.” 

“Time I got...patience I’m all out of. And I’m tired of being left to dry by a guy who fucks me into oblivion, claims he loves me, then bolts the next day.” 

Professor Xavier nodded slowly, understanding making Wade feel more at ease than he could remember feeling in years. 

Quiet moments passed, tension bleeding out of his chest, and Wade relaxed back in the chair, finding it more comfortable now than when he first walked in. 

“Tell me about Vanessa,” he said quietly, nothing presumptuous or demanding in his tone. Just gentle inquiry.

“What’s there to tell, X? She’s dead. It’s my fault. I can’t undo it, and I can’t make myself pay for it.”

“What would it do, making yourself pay?”

His voice tore at his throat. 

“It would make it stop hurting.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade woke up the next morning to a text from Peter. 

_Morning! 😊 Wanna hang tonight? I know we hardly know each other but I’d love to see you again, if this doesn’t come off as clingy or weird or...yeah 😅😎🤓_

Wade laughed for a full five minutes at how awkward and nervous the text read, and he ignored the sinking in his gut as he replied: 

_Ya don’t have to ask me twice! 🥰😍❤️ I’d love to—how about I bring some enchiladas and tamales and tacos your way at 8?_

The reply came in record time, Wade giggling like a six year old girl when Peter sent a gif of Homer drooling. 

He spent the day rewatching his favorite episodes of The Nanny and The Golden Girls, calling the restaurant for his pick up order, and lying to himself for the millionth time that Peter wasn’t Spidey, and that this dinner tonight would go well. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

At 8:02, mask left at home after arguing with himself all day about it, Wade had his armload of food and was knocking on Peter’s off-color door, and peered over the steam-wet plastic bags as Peter smiled at him. 

“Hey, Wade! You really didn’t have to do this—I could’ve paid my share!” 

“No way, Ba—Petey Pie. It’s my treat. You can buy dessert.” 

“Deal.”

Peter motioned inside and Wade smiled, walking in and setting the bags on the table. 

Wade squirmed and huffed and Peter laughed. 

“Ants in your pants?”

“Something like that,” Wade replied. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Peter pointed across the small studio apartment to the far back corner, and Wade bowed his way past, leaving Peter to start pulling out the food. 

After taking a leak, Wade reminding himself to wash his hands, he couldn’t help a cursory glance into the small closet next to the bathroom. 

He paused, hands dripping, as any happiness he felt at the evening froze in icy shards at the center of his knees. 

Even he knew it was bad manners to look in someone’s closet—and he hadn’t meant to look. 

But that red—that meshed blue. 

He walked over and pushed open the partially closed door and touched the sleeve, the fabric slick and somehow warm between his fingertips. 

“Wade?” Peter called from the other room. “Are you okay?”

Moist hands behind his back, Wade walked into the room as Peter lifted his head from his kitchen chair and smiled. 

“There you are! Thought you’d fallen in.”

Wade wanted to try and pretend he was okay, at least for a minute. But the more time that passed, the angrier he got. This wasn’t a coincidence...anyone but Spidey, and he would think so. 

“You’re not this fucking stupid,” Wade hissed. “Leaving your closet door open, your suit just accidentally showing from inside. No one is more paranoid about their secret identity than you. You planned this—you did this on purpose!”

Peter dared to mumble, “I don’t...I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Wade’s entire body tensed and shook as he shouted, “How can you look me in the eye and fucking lie to me?!” 

Wade whipped his arm around, wrist clipped with one of Spidey’s shooters, and webbed Peter’s chest, tugging him the eight foot distance until Wade was snarling a inch from his face, hand gripping Peter’s collar. 

“I guess this is the identity reveal, huh?” he snarled, nodding back towards the closet. “Was this your plan? Lure me in here, let me _accidentally_ find your suit so I’d know just how little you care about me? How much you’ve been fucking with me?”

Despite it all, Peter didn’t look afraid...startled, out of his element, forced into unpleasant surprise, but not afraid. Wade had seen him afraid, once. The night Wade regenerated, before his parts came back together. 

That was the first time Deadpool considered the possibility that Spidey cared about him. 

“Dammit, Webs,” Wade exhaled, releasing Peter’s collar. “Why did you have to do it like this? Didn’t you know that you could’ve just told me?” 

Wade hated how Spidey pled with those damn brown eyes, begging forgiveness in silence, mouth agape—because he didn’t know how to use his fucking words. Unless he was half-drunk and sticking his hand down Wade’s pants at 2 in the morning.

“I...I thought I could...get up the gumption to—to tell you if you found out this way. But...I guess my timing is bad, as always.”

Peter lowered his eyes and Wade felt rage and heartache sear his gut. 

“I knew I recognized your voice—godammit, Webs, I let myself believe that I didn’t recognize you because the truth of the fucking mind games would break me...” He sat on the edge of Peter’s bed. “...I let myself believe you loved me, Spidey.”

“I do love you,“ Peter murmured, voice strained. 

“Then how can you do this?” Wade roared, voice’s timbre breaking and making his throat constrict in pain. He snapped the webbing, tearing it and most of Peter’s shirt off his chest, and Wade threw the shooter across the room. 

“Of all the people I’ve ever opened up to, no one knows more about my fucked-up mind than you. You’d been there in ways even Vanessa hadn’t. Do you not fucking get what this shit does to me, Mr ‘I’m gonna lecture you about suicide but then abandon you without a word or a note the morning after we bang’?”

Peter’s mouth dropped, and his eyes swam. 

“You mean...Vanessa hadn’t ever seen you regenerate?”

Wade’s chest collapsed, his head swimming as he sat on the edge of Peter’s bed, holding his face in his hands. 

“That’s not the fucking point—but no. I wouldn’t let her...I knew what it would do to her. I didn’t want you to see it, either, but you wouldn’t listen.” He sniffed, snot dripping from his nose onto the floor before he could wipe it away. “You never listen, Spidey.”

He wept—god, he’d cried so much in front of Spidey—and whimpered between breaths, “How can I stay with you if all you want to do is fuck with me? If it were anyone else, I could handle it. I could, and have. But you?”

He raised his eyes, head aching and pounding. 

“Would you really have dropped me off that building, Spidey? After all we’ve been through?”

Peter knelt and threw his arms around him, tugging a pliant and still weeping Wade against his chest. 

“No,” he whispered, voice thick. “I wouldn’t have. Any excuse I could give you would not make up for that.”

“Try me.”

“I hadn’t slept in days, and nearly let a robber get away right before I saw you...but that doesn’t justify what I did...I’m really sorry, Wade. I...I don’t know what else to do, or say.”

“Why didn’t you leave a note, that morning? Your number? Anything? Was it so awful?”

Peter pressed his eyes shut. 

“You regret it, don’t you?”

He didn’t open his eyes, or answer Wade’s question. 

Wade pulled back, tearing himself out of Peter’s arms and crossing the length of the room. 

“Would you say those same things with your mask on?” Wade hissed. “All these so called apologies? Because I don’t believe you. You guilt me about holding onto a past I can’t change but you let yours completely run your life with no consequence. I can’t do that, Spidey. I’m fucked up enough in the head for one person; I can’t live with two.” 

Wade pounded to the door. 

“Wade, wait!” Peter called, suddenly roused. “Where are you going?”

He turned and hissed, “What do you care? I’m outta here.” 

Peter, tears falling down his cheeks, didn’t move from where he knelt, and Wade hated that slamming the door shut didn’t muffle Peter’s cries, or his own, as he ran down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I’m an angst whore lol
> 
> THEY’RE GONNA FUCK IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, I PROMISE!! IT’S OUTLINED AND EVERYTHING


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s walls crumble and he finally finds the way he can communicate what he’s been trying to say the entire time.
> 
> Wade gets an unexpected visit, an unexpected visitor, and something else he never thought he’d get.
> 
> AKA, the two lovebirds finally communicate. And very good things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Y’all are gonna both love me and hate me for this one. But this one is the happiest/fluffiest/smuttiest one yet!!!
> 
> I have three songs that kept playing in my head for this chapter, in this order:
> 
> “everything i wanted” by Billie Eilish (from Peter’s perspective)  
> “Drumming Song” by Florence + The Machine  
> “Guillotine” by Jon Bellion 
> 
> I have a million other songs that make me think of these two lovable morons, but I digress. 
> 
> Also, your kudos and comments and stuff give me LYFE. Thank you so much. It’s made my heart so happy. 🥰❤️
> 
> Now let’s get into the good stuff 😎😎😎😎🥰🥰🥰🥰

Wade was an asshole and he knew it, but he refused to answer any of Peter’s—Spidey’s—texts. 

No matter how many he sent him. 

The first one came ten minutes after Wade had stormed out of Peter’s apartment. 

He was on the subway when his phone vibrated. 

8:23 pm  
_Fuck you, Wade. You don’t fucking get how hard it was to tell you. You’re the first one I’ve told since Gwen—even Aunt May doesn’t know. I couldn’t just come out and say it. Ironic though, considering your screaming at me and damaging my web shooter was about as bad a reaction as I thought of in my worst nightmares. I don’t know why I bothered telling you—no matter how I did it, you were gonna lose it on me._

8:25 pm  
_I was trying to tell you, in my own fucked up way, how sorry I was for what I did to you. For leaving you that night. God, you were so beautiful—tucked into me like I was the safest thing in the world for you. But I’m not._

8:28 pm  
_I thought you’d be happy when you saw my suit—I thought you’d be glad to know I still cared, by looking for you when I couldn’t find you in your apartment...by staying with you at the hospital when it killed me to listen to you crying over me and Vanessa...but I’m not good at this stuff. Never have been, whether in or out of the mask._

8:35 pm  
_I’m pretty fucked up, Wade. I think you know that now. Maybe you’ve always known it, but you never let it get in the way of how you feel about me. But when I woke up after we’d been together—with you, your arms warm around me—I couldn’t stay. You deserve better, Deadpool. Far better than what I could’ve given you in my prime, and I’m not in my prime anymore._

9:02 pm  
_Fuck, you have incredible taste in Mexican food. I didn’t have anything else in the house and damn that food was almost worth the worst fight I’ve ever had with a beau._

9:03 pm  
_Sorry that was supposed to be a bad joke and it made me sound like even more of an ass than I already am._

9:57 pm  
_I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish you’d get the fuck off my mind but I don’t want to stop thinking about you, either. Dammit._

11:35 pm  
_You asleep, ‘Pool? I’m not. Obviously. Fuck, I’m such an idiot._

11:36 pm  
_You remember the night after that fire? We’d only known each other a couple weeks, but when we didn’t get to those kids in time...it meant the world to me to have you stay up with me, drinking with me, letting me cry, eating until we threw up and not letting me go home until I promised to call my aunt and cry with her, too. God, I think I first loved you then. Gwen had only been gone a couple months. And a few months later, you lost Vanessa. Fuck, this was supposed to be a sweet text. I could delete it, but I want you to see all of me. All my fucked up parts._

12:43 am  
_If you want me to stop, ‘Pool, please text me back. Please. Send me something._

12:59 am  
_I don’t regret it, btw. I don’t regret being with you. And I never, never will._

1:00 am  
_You were the first one I’ve been with since Gwen, and after that night, I didn’t want to be with anyone else. And that scared the shit out of me. ‘Pool, you do things to me, physically, emotionally, in my fucked up heart and soul that I can’t put into words. But I want to try, if you’ll let me._

2:03 am  
_Sorry, I fell asleep. Hope you’re still there._

2:05 am  
_Wade?_

2:08 am  
_Wade, c’mon, I know you’re getting these_

2:09 am  
_I really miss you, Wade. Please text me or call me—something. Please?_

2:47 am  
_You’ve probably figured this out already, but I was the guy at the cemetery during Vanessa’s funeral. I didn’t know how you’d feel if I showed up in my super suit, but I couldn’t not go. Because I know how awful that is. God, you looked like such a wreck. It took everything in me not to hold you. I’m sorry now that I didn’t._

4:23 am  
_Please talk to me, ‘Pool. Don’t make me unicorn gif you to death._

4:27 am  
_I bet you kept that heart emoji I put on my contact card on your phone. Because you’re a sap, and I’m a sap, too, though I suck at showing it._

4:35 am  
_I love you, Wade._

4:35 am  
_I really do._

5:02 am  
_What can I do to make it up to you? What can I do to make you believe I still care about you? That I want you in my life?_

Wade, up all night with schnapps in one hand and phone in the other, replied: 

5:04 am  
_Prove it._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly 11 am, and Peter hadn’t replied to his text. 

Wade was watching My Little Pony, deciding whether to drink the rest of his schnapps, jerk off, or both, when his apartment shook and trembled under the force of whoever the hell was knocking on his door with a battering ram. 

Cursing and groaning, Wade shut off the tv and pulled his mask on, still in his suit from the night before, and looked through his peephole. 

“Ah, fuck,” Deadpool hissed as he opened the door. “Is there another warrant out for my arrest?” 

Iron Man’s red and gold steel helmet clicked and released air as it opened, revealing Stark’s stern face. “You always pull a weapon on me, so I figured I’d come prepared.” 

“You shot me the last time I saw you!” 

Iron Man shrugged, nodding begrudgingly, his metal boots pounding loudly as he walked into the apartment. 

“What are doing here, Stark?” Deadpool muttered, gut tight with anxiety. 

The last time Tony Stark showed up like this, it was when they’d almost lost Rogers, and needed Wade’s help. They didn’t visit him unless it was life or death. 

“You know why I’m here,” Stark muttered, voice tired and strained. He looked like he’d slept as little as Wade had. “...Have you heard from him?”

Wade’s stomach sank. “Who, Spidey? I figured you had.”

“What happened, Deadpool?”

“You can ask him that yourself—I’m not betraying his confidence. But he was here a while back...and that’s all I’ll say.”

“Have you seen him on patrol?”

Wade was glad he wore his mask because his eyes filled with tears. 

“I caught a glimpse of him the other night, but...” He stopped. Stark didn’t need to know their entire affair. And how Wade had fucked it up. 

He should’ve known before Peter told him that Spidey revealing his identity was the most vulnerable he could get. Even more than stripping to his bare skin and making love to him. 

Webs really did love him. 

And he’d been an ass and asked him to prove it.

No wonder Peter hadn’t replied. Wade didn’t deserve it. 

Stark watched the changing expressions through Deadpool’s mask and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

“He told you about Gwen?”

Wade nodded, hands tending at his sides. “Yeah.”

“That’s more than he’s told me. Maybe if I was more trustworthy, he wouldn’t have taken off like this—without any contact.”

God help him, Deadpool couldn’t help but say, “...Webs thinks highly of you. He looks up to you—more than you know.” 

For the first time in more years than Wade could count, Iron Man held Deadpool’s eye and didn’t cringe, didn’t fidget, didn’t stray. 

Held his eye like he trusted him. 

“I know we’ve never gotten along,” Stark said. “But we both love that kid, in our own ways. Please find him. He hasn’t been to the Tower in weeks, and anything he’s doing on patrol has avoided the cameras. I don’t care if he ever speaks to me again—I just want to make sure he’s okay.” 

Wade jumped a foot in the air at the trill and vibration of the cell phone in his pocket, Stark’s system sending beeps and notifications at the same time via Jarvis and his British accent. 

“What is it, Jarvis?” Stark asked sharply. 

Wade beat him to it, hands shaking and chest seizing as he stared at the news alert on his screen. 

“There’s a fire—and Spidey’s there—!”

He vaulted over the couch so fast he knocked it over, pounding the buttons on his remote so hard they cracked, giving up and jumping forward to turn on the tv manually and flip it to the local news channel. 

A live bulletin was playing across the screen, a smoking apartment building in the background behind a female reporter, murmuring angrily into her ear piece, her microphone held between her crossed arms. If Wade weren’t so fucking scared, he would’ve laughed at the fact that she either didn’t know she was live, or was too pissed off to care. 

“No, no, Marty, the guy said it was burning, it was a valid tip. He said it was a terrible fire that would take out half the city block...Well, he said Spider-Man would be here!”

Deadpool gasped in delight and relief at the mentioned webbed hero running up to the camera and patting the reporter’s shoulder. The whites of mask and the neck and shoulders of his suit were clouded with soot and smoke, but otherwise he looked completely unharmed. 

Wade and Stark released a relieved breath, both of them leaning forward when Spidey spoke. 

“Sorry about that, miss!” he said, panting. “I honestly thought the fire would last at least until you got some footage of it. The important thing is me and the firemen got everyone out, right?” 

The reporter huffed, gasping when Spidey took a hold of her mic and said, “May I have this real quick? Thanks.”

Looking into the camera and completely oblivious to the burning rage on the reporter’s face, Spidey cleared his throat and said, 

“Deadpool—I know you’re watching this. I wanted to say, in front of the entire city—I’m sorry. And...I love you. None of this matters if you aren’t in my life. I hope you’re watching this and I’ll say it again in case it needs repeating—I love you. And I’m glad we’re together.”

Between the reporter’s face and Stark’s dropped jaw, Wade laughed so hard he nearly wet his pants. 

Spidey did what Deadpool never dreamed he would do—he told the world he loved him. Without the tiniest bit of embarrassment or shame. 

Deadpool wanted to both break down and cry, and burst out laughing with joy. 

He settled for a girlie cackle, a quick stretch of his arms, and running to his room for his gun belt and Bea Arthur. 

{Wow. He actually did it}

[It’ll never last]

{You’re just jealous ‘cause no one likes you}

Wade laughed at Yellow’s burn and turned his TV off as he clipped on his belt. 

Stark was still motionless, mouth open and eyes wide. 

“You’re welcome to stay, Iron Lung, but if you touch any of my shit I’m crashing at your place tonight,” Wade said, grinning and hardly able to keep from skipping in glee as he shut off his overhead light. 

Stark shook his head rapidly and asked, “What are you going to do?” 

“What else?” Deadpool asked, pulling on his katanas. “I’m gonna kiss him on camera in front of the world!”

Stark’s exasperated groan made Wade laugh even harder as he crawled out the window and down the fire escape. But before he started down the ladder, his phone rang with Peter’s name and his red heart emoji. 

Wade trembled with nerves and excitement and fear as he answered. 

“—Hello?”

“Did you see it?”

He smiled, leaning back against the railing. 

“Yeah.”

“So...do you believe me now?”

He sniffed, rubbing at his mask covered eyes. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Wade heard a quick sniffle on the other line and burst out, “Spidey, Baby Boy, Petey Pie, stay right where you are. I’m coming to sweep you off your feet for all the city to see and kiss you until they have to pixelate us out of the footage.”

Spidey laughed. “Nah, wait at your place. Though your idea is adorable and more than a little sexy, the cameras are gone and I promised the reporter a hot dog from Nathan’s for giving her a sort-of phony tip.”

They both laughed together, the silence that followed filled with warm sighs and comfortable reassurance. 

“I love you, Spidey,” Wade said. “...I love you, Peter.”

Spidey’s breath caught and he choked out, “I love you—too.” He cleared his throat and said, “Give me an hour, and I’ll be at your place.”

“I’ll be here, sweetcheeks.”

Wade kept the phone to his ear, waiting for Spidey to hang up, but he didn’t...he could hear his breath hesitating, interrupted by thick swallows. Warmth and understanding flooded Wade’s chest, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and caress all the hurt and worry away. 

“Peter?”

He sniffled. “...Uh-huh?”

“I forgive you, honey. And I’m sorry, too.”

“Nothing to apologize for, baby,” Peter replied, voice still shaky, but happier. 

Wade shuddered in pleasure at the pet name, apparently being louder than he intended because Spidey burst out laughing. 

“Save those noises for later, ‘Pool. I’ll be over soon. Love you.”

He hung up and Wade sighed, holding the phone to his chest and refusing to move for a full minute until he knew that his brain wasn’t fucking with him again. 

When he crawled back through his window, Iron Man was gone, and there was a small card on the countertop. The front had the Stark Industries logo, and the back had handwritten words:

_Thank you, Deadpool. Have him call me or I’m sending every drone I have after him. -Tony_

Wade laughed, kissing the card for its evidence of him still being in the crazy, fucked up, glorious reality, and started pacing back and forth, watching the clock on his phone for the hour to tick away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deadpool opened the back door, leaning against the frame, shivering in the noonday sun as Spidey climbed up the wall and over the side of the balcony. 

“Hey there,” Wade murmured through his mask, unable to stop from grinning or stop his dick from announcing its presence. 

Spider-Man lowered himself onto the landing and walked over to him, wrapping his arms around Deadpool’s waist. 

“Did Iron Dick get a hold of you?” Wade asked, so overwhelmed with gratitude and grief and utter relief that he had to say something. 

Spidey laughed. “Yes. Multiple times. And threatened to banish me into one of Strange’s dimensions if I ever avoided him so long again.” 

Deadpool laughed and pulled him closer, cradling Spidey’s head with his hand, kissing his forehead through his mask, their arms tightening around each other. They stood like that for several minutes, torsos flush and chests rising and falling against each other. Both of them were undeniably hard but neither fidgeted...Wade was terribly touch-starved—and apparently Spidey was, too. 

“I never wanna let go,” Webs murmured into Wade’s chest. “I wish I’d taken you up on this a long time ago.”

“I’m the world’s best and horniest cuddler,” Deadpool chuckled warmly. “And nothing says we have to move, though I’m not averse to going into more.... _comfortable_ quarters, either.” 

Spidey nodded with a chuckle, pulling back, hands resting on Deadpool’s forearms.

“Wade...Before we go inside, I...I want you to take off my mask.”

He shook his head. 

“Nope.”

Spidey groaned. “I thought this was what you wanted! Why not?”

“Because I want _you_ to do it, Baby Boy. I want you to want to show me who you are—not just have me stumble on it. Not just have me pick you up like an unpleasant surprise...I want to see you, because you want me to see you. Not because I forced you to.”

Spidey sighed, nodding reluctantly. 

“You mean I’m not an unpleasant surprise?”

Wade’s heart broke. “You’re the best thing in my life, Spider-Man...Peter.” 

Shoulders trembling as he lifted his gloved hands to the edge of his mask, Spidey sighed. 

Deadpool stopped him, hand on his arm. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“You’ve already seen me,” Spidey said, trying to sound braver than he felt. 

“It’s not the same thing, babe. We both know that.”

Spidey paused, sighed, and nodded. He reached his hands up, fingers curled under the edge of his mask, rolling up an inch, revealing that creamy white skin that made Wade salivate. 

“I’m ready,” Spidey said, and Wade shivered, ignoring his aching hard-on as Webs pulled his mask up and over, revealing that adorably perfect face, that heavenly mop of hair, those glistening brown eyes. 

Wade couldn’t be held responsible for his hands reaching out to stroke those cheekbones, to tantalize the edge of his lips, Peter’s eyes closing, breath coming ragged through his chest. 

“Wait—“ Peter gasped. “Wait...there’s something I’ve gotta do first.” He straightened back, opened his eyes, and pressed the hand still shaped his cheek. 

“My name is Peter Parker. And I’m Spider-Man.”

Wade removed his hand to take off his own mask. 

“My name is Wade Wilson, and Deadpool’s my better half.” 

Spidey laughed, rolled his eyes, and catapulted Wade against the wall, forcing his tongue into his mouth, both of them moaning and devouring, Spidey gripping his hands so tight on the back of his neck, Wade hoped the bruises would last long enough to see them tomorrow. 

Wade picked him up to carry him inside, Peter wrapping his legs tight around his waist, both moaning at the contact of their erections, and Spidey begged between sloppy, biting, desperate kisses, 

“God—Wade, bedroom, _please_ , bedroom—!“

“If you—insist—“ Wade breathed, having a hard time standing on shaking knees as he walked them across his living room, “Maybe I should—“ He groaned way too loud at Peter stroking his dick through his pants. “Maybe I should punish you—“

“Yes—fuck yes—but not now—punish me later—“ Peter breathed, mouth red and slack, caressing Wade’s cheeks before kissing him again. “God, I want you to punish me—But I want you to fuck me into oblivion first. Fuck me so hard I can’t move.”

“Deal—“ Wade gasped as he fell backwards onto the bed, Peter sprawled on top of him, and this was so much better with daylight—he could see his baby flushed, moaning, desperate, red-cheeked and red-lipped and hard as a rock and dripping through his suit. 

They rutted against each other until Wade forced Peter’s hips to still, gasping and trying to stop his own squirming. 

“Strip,” Wade gasped. “We gotta strip. I gotta get my hands on that pearly skin again—I gotta—I’ve gotta see all of you again...”

Peter nodded desperately in agreement, separating the top of his suit from the bottom and offering Wade his wrists to tug off his sleeves, then Peter slid out of his pants as Wade struggled out of his suit, flailing and cursing his straps and leather buckles until Peter was laughing at him and helped him out. 

The laughing calm quickly burnt up into humping and gasping and depraved moans and groans and pleas as their naked bodies touched, Peter straddling him like he had that night, Wade completely overwhelmed by the sight of Baby Boy’s eyes, wet with desperation and tenderness, the flush of his cheeks that tinted his perfect chest pink—he pulled Peter close, their hips still grinding against each other, and shut his eyes, suddenly so overwhelmed by it all that he wanted to sob and moan and scream all at once. He loved him so much, he felt like he’d die. 

“Wade....” Peter groaned. “Baby—do you want Daddy to take over?”

Wade was unable to speak as he nodded aggressively, pulling Peter’s lips to his and tangling their tongues together until he was sure he could cum just from being so close to him. 

“I—I can fuck you—I can—“ Wade sputtered, hips bucking and rolling as Peter licked and lathered his tongue across his chest, somehow able to know the line between pleasurable and painful on his scarred skin without Wade having to tell him. 

“I’m an aggressive bottom, baby,” Peter leveled, voice strained and trembling, smiling fondly at Wade’s whine.

He took Wade’s dick in hand, the merc bowing up from the bed in a completely humiliating squeal of need and anguish. 

“Do you want me to fuck you—?” Spidey asked. 

Peter broke his authority in a heavy, shuddering exhale, nipping and licking at Wade’s fingertips that touched and caressed his face, rolling his head back and forth as he groaned, fingers stilling on Wade’s member. 

Wade took Peter’s free hand, brushing the kid’s throbbing dick as he went, and kissed his palm. 

“I want you—my beloved arachnid, I just want you—and virtually no kink is off limits for me—“

Peter sobered a moment, brushing his fingers against Wade’s saliva-wet lips. 

“That’s not what I asked you, baby...” He bent over him, kissing his collar bone, his chest, his navel, lathing his tongue over the hair curling around Wade’s cock, blowing a torturous breath over him, but refusing to touch his dick beyond the now-tight grip Peter held at its base with a circle of his fingers. 

Without warning, Peter swooped down and dragged his tongue from the bottom to the top of his dick and Wade was now so desperate he had tears in his eyes. 

“What do you want, Wade?” Peter asked, lessening the hold of his fingers and peering up at him with a concerned look. 

Wade took a couple shaking breaths and replied, “F—fuck me. Please—be inside me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAHAHA 😈😈😈😈😈  
> I promise I’m not being cruel on purpose. This chapter was getting WAY too long, and I wanted to dedicate an entire chapter just to them making love and hanky panky and fucking so yeah.  
> I swear tho, it’ll be SO worth it. Though I made my last ending chapter note a liar, the next chapter’s gonna be GLORIOUS 😎😎😎😎😎😛😛😛😛😛  
> Seriously though, y’all are the best. Thanks for continuing to stick it out with me!!  
> (P.S., and this isn’t going to end the story, either. I’m going all in for domestic life with these two dingbats so stay tuned!!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter fuck into oblivion, and find some measure of closure with their wounds.
> 
> They start to trust each other beyond their mutual attraction and begin to build a life together.
> 
> The end of their relationship starting, and the start of something much better than they expected for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like 90% sex and holy shit so much fun.
> 
> This was SO MUCH FUN and heartbreaking and warm and sappy to write.
> 
> I’m so sorry this took me so long!! Quarantine has kinda kicked my butt.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this last chapter!

Peter’s lube-dripping fingers stretching and straining Wade’s ass were a fucking menace (pun intended), and Wade told him so, hands clenching the headboard so tight the wood was starting to splinter. 

And speaking of wood. 

“Goddamnit, Spidey,” Deadpool growled, knees shaking, “if you ‘accidentally’ brush my love button one more time I’m gonna cum and then kick your ass.” 

Peter laughed breathlessly, nudging his pulsing erection against the back of Wade’s thigh, making both of them groan. 

“I’ll stop if you ask, Deadpool,” he purred, licking his ear and sucking on it. “But I don’t think either of us want to stop, do we?” 

Wade’s legs widened without his permission and he huffed, panting as he begged.

“Oh my fucking god—baby, Daddy, fuck all, Spider-Man, Kink King, I’m two milliseconds from blowing my load. Get the fuck in me already.”

“I’ve heard legends, all from you, of your amazing _cum_ back time. Shall we test it?”

Wade was so desperate he would’ve said yes to anything at this point. He nodded until his neck cracked, tears filling his eyes and saliva dripping from his mouth as he hunched forward, pressing his forehead into his pillow. 

Peter paused in his touches, placing a gentle hand on Wade’s back as he leaned forward enough to meet his eye. 

“Give me your safe word one more time, baby.”

He laughed weakly, knees trembling from how he was crouched. 

“We’re not doing anything kinky yet.”

“Tell me anyway,” he urged, kissing the tip of his nose. 

Wade sighed, cheeks flushing. 

“Slushee.”

Peter smiled. “Good. If I do ANYTHING you don’t like, or you’ve had enough of, kinky or not, I want you to use that word, okay?”

“Okay.”

They kissed, Wade whining as he started humping the bedspread out of wanton need, and Peter smiled that wickedly delicious smile and returned to crouch behind him, reaching up to the bed frame to caress Wade’s hands with his own. 

“Ready?”

Wade somehow growled and sobbed at the same time. 

[Don’t blow it don’t blow it don’t blow it]

{Oh look he’s already dribbling! He won’t last two thrusts}

Wade winced and shut his eyes tight.

Peter was panting, hips rolling back and forth, dragging his cock deliciously over the sensitive skin between Wade’s cheeks. He paused and leaned forward and stroked the side of Wade’s face. 

“Are...” he groaned as Wade rolled his hips back against him. “Are Yellow and White being nice to you?”

Wade laughed so he wouldn’t start crying. “They’re never nice to me.”

“Let’s shut ‘em up, then.” 

Thank Lady Death that Spidey had reached the end of his patience because if he’d pushed in slow, Wade was gonna lose his mind. Peter thrust all the way to the hilt in one move and sent Deadpool screaming and groaning, unable to stop from fucking himself on Peter’s dick as the super started thrusting. 

“Pete—Petey, wait—!”

But it was a mute point—he couldn’t stop and clenched on Peter’s cock so tight he felt impaled as he arched back against him and came with a desperate, pleasured groan, hot and heavy and thick, riding the sensation even as guilt drowned him. 

Wade fell forward into the puddle he’d left on the bed and sobbed, Peter’s dick twitching and unflagging inside him, his hands still grasping Wade’s hips. 

He was pathetic for not holding out longer for his Spidey Baby. He was gonna leave now, and Wade couldn’t blame him. 

Apparently he’d said that out loud because he came out of his hysterics to Peter holding him, cradled against his chest, brushing his back lightly with his fingers. 

Wade couldn’t understand this—Peter was still hard and flushed, precum dribbling and dripping onto their joined laps. Wade had failed him in the one thing he was good at. Why was he still here? 

When Wade lifted his head and wiped his hand over his nose, Peter smiled warmly, kissing his forehead and stroking it affectionately. 

“It’s alright, Wade,” he cooed. “Really. I’m not mad—not even a little. See? You’re already hard again. We’ve got lots of time to have fun.” He kissed Wade’s temple so tenderly, tears welled up in his eyes. “And if you think this is the only time we’re staining your sheets, you’re wrong.”

Wade laughed. “I need a new bed, anyway—let’s give this one the sex-filled equivalent of a Viking funeral,” he said, eyebrows waggling. 

Peter chuckled, rubbing Wade’s back as his breaths hitched, waiting until Wade met his eyes to quietly ask, “You alright, Wade? We can stop, if you need to. We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Wade answered with as deep a kiss as he’d ever given anyone, drinking Peter’s deliciously desperate groan like water. 

“Face me—please,” Peter begged. “I want to watch as I make you scream and cum untouched again.”

“Oh fuck,” Wade hissed, landing awkwardly on his back as he spread his legs, wrapping them around Peter’s waist. He slid back in easily, just the slightest edge of pain blending so perfectly with pleasure and Wade shut his eyes without thinking, tugging Peter deeper inside him with a tight hold on his ass. 

“You—you said you loved me,” Wade wept and groaned as Peter started up again, thrusting steadily and with measured paces, brow furrowed and sweat glistening on his forehead. 

Peter growled, biting at Wade’s lips so hard, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t cum just from that. 

“I love—you,” he grunted, lips wet against Wade’s. “So much it hurts.”

And Wade could see it—it hurt him to hold back—Wade could trace the tension and muted pain in every line of his muscles and in the edge of his jaw. 

“Come on, Petey—you don’t have to gentle with me,” he gasped, thrusting up to meet him and forcing himself to focus through the delirium of pleasure that Peter’s unbelievably perfect movements gave him. 

“N—no,” Peter sputtered, his resolves crumbling for a breath, resting his head against Wade’s chest as he panted, his hips still grinding forward in restless thrusts. “No, babe...this, right here, isn’t about me, or chasing my pleasure or using you—though all those options sound fucking delicious right now—I want this time to be about you...not like last time.” A tear slid down his sweaty cheek and Wade stroked it away. 

“Spidey baby,” Wade cooed, kissing the tip of his nose and massaging his hands down his shoulders, his back, over his hips, settling them over his ass and tugging him forward and sending Peter lurching on instinct. “That night was amazing.” He rolled his hips, hissing at the coil of heat at the base of his spine. “And though I wanna forget about that morning, I don’t ever wanna forget how fucking hot that night was—your dick pulsing against mine—“

Peter’s eyes were shut, hands clenched in white-knuckled restraint in the pillow on either side of Wade’s head, muttering with each panting breath, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...!”

Wade cursed, fighting the tingling and trembling and tightening in his balls and his back and his cock that told him his next orgasm was coming, and he refused to cum again without Petey cumming with him. 

Locking his legs on Peter’s hips, he flipped them over and pinned the shocked arachnid to the bed, Wade laughing and groaning at Peter’s hands getting stuck to the sheet and tangling them in it as Wade thrust against him with abandon. 

Tearing off the sheets and arching back into the bed with a growl, Peter rolled his hips in a scream and let his mouth hang open in ecstasy. 

“Wade—Wade—please!”

“Say no more, Baby Boy—I got you.”

It could’ve been an hour, it could’ve been a minute by the time Peter went rigid, clawing at Wade’s back and panting through his release, Wade following with a cursing groan at the unforgettable pulsing and wet heat of Spidey pumping into him. 

“I guess we’re both switches, huh?” Peter laughed between pants, kissing Wade’s temple, cheek, nose, lips, and cheek again as they tossed aside the now-destroyed bedsheets. “That... _fuck_.”

Wade laughed and brushed the hair out of his eyes. 

“That was amazing,” Peter finished. 

“You’re damn right it was. And that was only our second go around—“ He stopped, suddenly self-conscious. What if he was jumping the gun? What if this was a one night thing, no matter what Peter said? 

“Wade?”

“Yeah?”

Peter reached over him and switched off the lamp. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Wade didn’t have the heart to tell him he didn’t believe him. But when Peter rested against his chest, fit even more perfectly than before, how could he wish for it to be true?

He was asleep, Peter’s perfect body warmth soothing his aches, before he could say anything else. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Wade woke up, the early evening glittering with stars, the bed was cold. 

He bolted upright, about to start screaming and cursing, when he heard the patter of bare feet and the sizzle of something frying on the stove. 

He pulled on a pair of boxers and stepped into the living room, sleepily rubbing his eyes, and laughed at what he found: Spidey’s bare butt greeting him from the stove, Wade’s HelloKitty apron tied around him. 

“Yo, Wade!” Peter called over his shoulder, oil-dripping spatula in one hand, the handle of his pan in the other. “How do you want your pancakes?”

Wade breathed a deeper sigh of relief than he ever had his whole life, and after listing off nearly every sweet condiment he had in the fridge, went back to his room and grabbed a couple t-shirts and sweatpants and undies for Spidey. 

They dressed and ate ravenously, cuddled together on Wade’s couch, laughing at the reruns from Spidey’s press appearance earlier that day and the speculations that he’d lost his mind, outing himself on television. 

“They think you’re nuts for being with me,” Wade said.

“Eh, they’ll get over it.” 

Peter stood and took their dishes to the sink, a chill running down Wade’s spine as the warmth of his lover left him. It was silly, to depend on temperature to know that this was real, but it felt so much easier to believe when Spidey was warm and pressed against him. 

He winced at White and Yellow making puking noises and reminding him between heaves that he still hadn’t cleaned up the bloodied clothes in his room and that Peter was bound to see them, if he hadn’t already seen them.

Peter turned off the sink and walked over to Wade, pressing his shoulder. 

“Breathe...it’s alright. Yellow, White, fuck off.”

Wade chuckled, holding his hands over his eyes and taking as deep breaths as he could. 

It wasn’t until he’d had his eyes shut that he noticed the smell of smoke, and that was just enough of a distraction from the dickwads in his head to stand and frame Peter against the sink with his arms wrapped around his waist. 

“What’s that smell? Doesn’t smell like burnt pancakes.” 

“I’m insulted!” Peter laughed. He turned and wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck. “I...I saw some...pretty gnarly clothes, on your bedroom floor.”

His stomach fell until Peter asked, “You didn’t want those, did you?”

Wade shook his head. “Nah.”

“Good. Because I burned ‘em and flushed the ashes down the toilet.”

Wade laughed and kissed him, wet and sloppy, and pulled him close. 

“I meant to tell you, before, but...I went to see Xavier.”

Peter pulled back, face lit with a surprised smile. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm. I heard what you said, Spidey. I know I have shit to work on.”

Spidey smiled, pressing his forehead into Wade’s chest. 

“I’m gonna try,” Wade murmured into Peter’s mop of hair. “I’m gonna try harder not to...” He swallowed. “Not to hurt or...off myself. I can’t promise I won’t slip up—I still have a bagful of marbles loose up there...but I promise I’ll try.”

Peter leaned back and took Wade’s cheeks in his hands, flinching when Wade winced. 

“Your skin bothering you?”

“Always,” Wade grunted, pressing Peter’s hands. 

“Thank you for that promise, ‘Pool,” Spidey whispered. “Since we’re promising stuff, I promise not to freak out on you without telling you why. I’ll still freak out—you know me too well to think that would stop, but...I’ll try to talk more. About her. And about...us.”

Wade chuckled quietly and mussed Peter’s hair. 

“I’ll take it, Bubble Butt. Come here.”

He kissed him, hard and begging and desperate, trying to tell him without words because he was too chicken shit how scared and grateful and desperate and in love he was, and Peter shoved him back suddenly, eyes sparking with that rebellious and ornery glint that always meant something very good and very torturous was coming. 

“Oh Baby Boy, you melt my butter and scare the shit out of me when you look at me like that,” Wade laughed, breath hitching when Spidey hooked his fingers into Wade’s waistband and tugged his pants and boxers down to his feet and knelt in front of him, mouthing at the skin between his thighs until Wade’s semi was very obviously not a semi anymore. 

“Fuck, Petey,” Wade gasped, holding the countertop behind him as the kinky bastard blew over his now straining erection. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“But what a way to go,” Spidey panted as he tugged down his own sweats, revealing a very interested Spidey Jr. that quickly disappeared in Spidey’s hand. 

Without preamble, Peter swallowed Wade whole, moaning at the dual pleasures, and lapped and sucked and swallowed around his dick until Wade couldn’t help the thrusts that escaped his control, tugging desperately on Peter’s hair as warning and groaning at Peter’s determined growl as he pressed Wade tighter against the countertop and curled his fingers under Wade’s balls and made him shoot like that’s all he was good for. Peter followed, head pressed against Wade’s thigh, wet and dripping mouth panting until his hips thrust hard and he spilled over Wade’s feet. 

“Fuck—Petey Pie,” Wade panted. “I may never let you leave if this is how every day is gonna go.” 

Peter shrugged through a red-cheeked smile. 

“Alright—I can live with that.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Wade was getting his ass thoroughly handed to him in Call of Duty when Peter’s cell phone rang. He was both amazed and floored to see Peter go from cussing out the grenade that bounced against the wall and blew them up to answering the call with poised, firm authority of Spider-Man. And, like always, it made warm shivers spread over Wade’s arms. Though Peter didn’t introduce his persona until he knew the nature of the call, it always made warm shivers spread over Wade’s arms. 

It ended up being only an automated scam call that Webs hung up on as soon as the recording started, and when he dropped his phone on the couch between them, Wade couldn’t help the cursory glance at his home screen picture. 

Peter followed his eyes and freaked when he realized, covering the screen with his hand instead of just locking the screen. 

“Fuck—Wade, you weren’t supposed to see that—“ 

“Don’t be silly, Webs...” He casually glanced at him and tentatively reached for the phone. “Is it okay if I—?”

Peter sighed, exasperated, and nodded. He unlocked it and handed it to him, flopping against him and facing the wall, arms crossed, facing the wall with quiet, sad eyes. 

Wade watched him a minute, wrapping Peter’s arm around his and kissing his temple before looking at the home screen photo on his phone. 

It was a open-mouthed selfie of Peter in his Spidey suit, sitting on the ledge of building, mask pulled up to the top of his head like a beanie, his arm wrapped around a gorgeous blonde woman in a Spider-Man t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun and her lips pressed to Peter’s cheek. 

Tears stung his eyes.

“You two look so happy,” Wade couldn’t help saying. 

“That was our six month anniversary,” Peter mumbled. 

“I promise I’ll make you smile like that,” Wade said, heart breaking. “Happy and cutesy and adorable.”

Peter chuckled, nuzzling his face into Wade’s chin and saying, “ ‘Pool, you already do. Mask or not, you’ve made me goofy grin like a moron more times than I can count.”

Peter leaned back against the couch and took his phone, eyes tracing every detail of the background picture. 

“Do you want me to change it, Wade?” he asked quietly. 

Wade removed his arm from Peter’s shoulder and tugged his phone out of his pocket. Making sure Peter saw the Spider-Man picture on his lock screen, he scrolled past his apps and showed Peter his home screen picture—it was a black and white portrait of Vanessa in black lace lingerie, legs curled over their kitchen stool and one hand teasing her hair. 

“She’s beautiful,” Peter said, cheeks flushing. 

Wade giggled and kissed his warm cheek, tugging him close and holding both of their phones together, both women’s pictures side by side. 

“They’ll always be a part of our lives, and our relationship, whether or not we change our phone backgrounds.” He handed Peter his phone. “You don’t make me change mine, and I won’t make you change yours.” 

Peter smiled at the out Wade was giving him, and nodded. 

“Deal.” 

An hour passed, maybe a little longer, the both of them now playing Mario Kart and Wade owning him, when Peter tossed down his controller after losing yet another race and sighed. 

“I have an itch for a stroll. Wanna piggyback and let me swing you to my favorite spot?”

“Hell yeah!”

Ten minutes later, after they both changed into their suits, Deadpool was clinging to Spidey’s torso like a monkey as he webbed from one building to the next, the smoothness and snap of his webbing making Wade become aroused and amazed by Webs even more than he was. 

They stopped at an old, stone building, a lion’s head reaching over the bulk of the city in the midst of the towering skyscrapers. It was both isolated from and apart of the city life. Wade saw immediately why Spidey liked it so much. 

After Webs let him down, Wade was stretching and suddenly realized he recognized the statue. It was the same one in the background of the selfie Petey took with Gwen. 

Spidey must have guessed at his thoughts. He walked over to the statue and ran his hand down the lion’s mane and over its nose. 

“Time for some new memories, huh?” 

Deadpool was speechless, overcome with both heartbreak and tenderness, and nodded, pulling out his phone, but Spidey stopped him and pulled out his own. 

“I told you, Baby Boy, you don’t have to change your home screen,” Deadpool managed to squeak. 

“And who says I can’t have a new lock screen photo?” Webs replied, tugging up his mask so it rested on the top of his head like in the selfie, his brown tufts of hair sticking out in the most adorable way possible and making Wade weak in the knees. 

He walked up to him and reached up to the back of Wade’s mask, waiting there with his fingers along the seam and saying, “What do you say, Wade? Want to do this with me?”

There was a lot more to this than a picture, and Wade knew it. 

“Sure, Baby Boy,” he replied, taking off his mask and shivering as Webs’ fingers caressed the back of his head and down his neck. “Anything for you.”

They perched on the roof in front of the statue, almost exactly where Spidey and Gwen sat, and when Peter held up his phone to take the selfie, it wasn’t difficult at all for Wade to kiss his cheek with every sappy energy he had, especially when he saw how genuinely happy Webs was. 

When they huddled together to look over the picture, and Peter set it as his lock screen while Wade watched, he cuddled close and said,

“Any chance I can dress you up in black lace to copy Vanessa’s pic?” 

Spidey snorted and acted like he was gonna push him off the building until Wade grabbed him by the face and kissed him, tongues pressing against each other and Spidey making that adorable groan he always did when Wade took him by surprise. 

“ ‘Pool—“ he gasped, making a half-effort to push him away but just cuddling closer instead. “Fuck—no one kisses like you.”

“Damn straight,” Wade laughed, tracing his leather-covered thumb over Spidey’s nose before kissing it. “So, uh...I’m just gonna throw this out there...you, uh, wanna...make all this...official?” Wade asked a little too fast, wanting to punch himself at the godawful squeak in his voice.

“I thought we just did?” Spidey asked, tapping his phone with the selfie on the screen. 

And there was that goofy grin, and instantly Deadpool knew he’d seen that grin a hundred times, a thousand times—when they were on patrol together, eating together, fighting bad guys together. 

When Wade had fully regenerated after nearly 18 hours and stared at Spidey, blinking in the bright light with new eyes, and Spidey stared down at him with masked cheeks stretched around that smile, his bare hands gently stroking that cool washcloth over Wade’s face. 

“Hey there,” he’d said, voice thick. “It’s good to see you again, ‘Pool.” 

At the time, he’d thought it was Spidey’s exhaustion that made him sound so emotional...but now...

Wade turned and took Webs’ hand, lacing their fingers together and caressing his thumb. 

“What’s gonna happen tomorrow, Spidey?” he asked on a whim, the dusk making the air chill, the red and purple sunset glaring off the skyscraper windows in front of them making his stomach drop. 

He was gonna wake up. 

This was all going to be a dream. A beautiful, tortured hallucination. 

He was gonna come to, curled in Vanessa’s pillow, her blood-stained shirt knotted in his hands and the mattress clinking with empty liquor bottles. 

“Wade...I’m still here. Look at me.” 

Peter’s was tugging on his chin, and those beautiful brown eyes were searching his face as though he could read each of Wade’s thoughts. 

“This is a fucking hallucination, Baby Boy,” Deadpool bit, tightening their hands. “I’m gonna wake up and you won’t be there, but not because you left. Because I’m desperate for a happy ending that’ll never happen.” 

He went to stand, but Spidey tugged him back down and straddled his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. 

“What can I do to convince you this is real—that I’m real—other than fucking your brains out?”

Wade laughed. “I won’t ever turn that down.”

Peter’s face grew pensive and serious, his gloved hands stroking Wade’s cheeks and making his stomach tense and tease at the affection. 

“What if I spent the night tonight?” Spidey asked. “Be there when you wake up in the morning? Make you pancakes again, give you another blowjob in front of your sink?”

Wade shifted at the thrum of arousal that sent through him, but he still shook his head. 

“Some of these have lasted days, Spidey...I couldn’t ask you to sleep over that long.”

Peter thought about this a minute and shrugged. “Okay.”

Wade laughed, startled and Peter grinned. 

“Wade...I’m kind of into you. Just a little.” He ran his fingers on the back of Wade’s neck. “And if I _have_ to make the sacrifice of spending as much time as possible with you, in between work and heroing, then I guess it’s a sacrifice worth making.” 

Peter brushed their noses and grinned that ornery, wicked grin. 

“Wanna take a different ride home?” 

Wade raised his eyes. “Considering I hitchhiked on your shoulders the whole way up here, I’d love to hear what you had in mind.”

Peter sat back and removed the web shooters from his wrists. 

“As my way of apologizing for how I abused these, I wanna give you a go at em.”

Wade couldn’t have looked more shocked if Peter had handed him his tongue. 

He fastened the tools on Wade’s wrists with a click and tugged his mask back down over his face. 

“Let’s go!” he said, standing Wade up and climbing on his back as Wade pulled on his own mask. 

“I’m gonna kill us both!” Wade screeched as Spidey pushed him towards the edge, wrapping his limbs around him. “I’m not very good at keeping myself off the pavement, Webs.” 

Spidey laughed, the sound sending shivers down his spine. “Don’t worry, I’m wearing back ups. Let’s have some fun. I won’t let anything happen to us.” 

Deadpool met Spidey’s masked eyes and exhaled shakily. “If I hurt you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Webs tightened his legs around Wade’s waist and breathed in his ear, “I trust you, ‘Pool. Show me what you got.” He stroked his hands over Wade’s pecks, pressing over where his nipples would be. He couldn’t feel anything through the leather, but the action was more than enough to make Deadpool’s mouth go slack and a groan ache through his chest. 

“I’ve always had this fantasy—“ Spidey moaned against his ear. “You slinging us across the city and then pinning me to an alley wall and sucking me dry.” 

That was all the motivation Wade needed. 

He overshot the first try, cringing in embarrassment and about to give up when Spidey wrapped his hand around Wade’s and guided him through the action, securing the first line to the building across the street and whispering in his ear, 

“Don’t be afraid. You are fucking badass—and the only one I trust to try this.”

They swung off the building, Wade screaming like a kid and then whooping and hollering with adrenaline as he swung through to the next one with Peter’s help, until the motion came nearly as natural as breathing. He totally understood why Spidey would do this just for the fun of it, to take off in the middle of the night or in the early morning, to swing between the buildings, blinded and blistered by the rush of the chilled wind and the shine of the sunlight reflecting off the glass paneled buildings. 

They made it to the alley behind Wade’s apartment with Wade only missing one swoop and Spidey rappelling his own web in time to save their asses. By the time Wade lowered them to the ground, there was absolutely no doubt that Spidey was as rock hard as he was, and it took all of a millisecond for Deadpool to return his webshooters to Webs’ wrists before the super was rutting against his thigh and begging him to take him apart.

“Wade....that was...god, that was so hot. You were amazing...” Peter breathed, yanking up the mouth of his mask and sucking on his lips and his tongue like they were a lifeline. 

“Still wanna play out that fantasy?” Deadpool purred against Spidey’s lips, fumbling at his straps and belt clasps when Spidey nodded desperately. 

“Web me, Deadpool. Please—“ Spidey begged once Wade had both their pants down to their ankles. 

So he did, leaving Petey’s legs wriggling under his ensnared top, kneeling shakily and drooling at the sight of Spidey’s hard cock. 

He made true on his promise to suck Spidey dry until he was crying and moaning from overstimulation, and though he didn’t last long, Wade didn’t either. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They celebrated their one month anniversary with a bonfire on Wade’s apartment roof with the closet door marked with Wade’s suicide attempts. That night Peter also gave Wade a copy of his apartment key. Peter already had one of Wade’s, and even if he didn’t, he usually came in through the back door or the kitchen window, both of which Wade left unlocked. It was more of a symbolic gesture, especially since Peter was almost always at Wade’s and not the other way around, but it was a gesture of trust that Wade didn’t take lightly. 

Peter also insisted on the new mattress Wade kept forgetting to buy, and after trying it out for hours until both of them were sore from head to toe and panting for breath long after they were done, Peter tucked Wade in with the brand new red and blue comforter and sheets he insisted on buying for Wade himself and kissed him on the forehead. 

“How’s your skin with the new bedclothes?” he asked. 

Wade smiled. “Sore, but bearable. Better than my old ones.”

“Good.” Peter kissed him again and crawled into the bed beside him. “And I have all the fixings for pancakes tomorrow. And bacon and eggs and sausage.”

Wade chuckled. “That better have been with my credit card.”

“Oh, it was.”

They laughed and Peter fell happily into the pillow next to him, pulling his half of the comforter over his shoulder and snuggling close. 

“Come here, Wade.”

Gently tugged and settled on his baby’s bare chest, Wade was instantly lulled into blessed drowsiness with the beating of Petey’s heart in his ear.

“G’night, Peter. I love you.”

“Goodnight, Deadpool,” Spidey murmured. “Love you. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he was—the morning after that, and the morning after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is FAR from the end of our adventures with these two idiots. I have so many extended stories and one offs planned in this timeline and it’s gonna be a blast. 🤘😎 Thanks for sticking it out with me!!! Love y’all to pieces!!


End file.
